In A Bottle
by esquilo-negligenciadas
Summary: Since the Great Revelation, synthetic blood has presented a point of vulnerability to the vampire population; when its sanctity is threatened, northern Louisiana's resident telepath finds the plot goes markedly deeper than anticipated. Alternate history.
1. In Which There Are Indiscretions

Welcome to my first (proper) multi-chapter fic. This one has been percolating for longer than I care to admit, but I've finally got it all outlined and a fair bit written. You may expect updates roughly once a week. In case you were dumped here direct from Twitter, the summary:

_Since the Great Revelation, synthetic blood has presented a point of vulnerability to the vampire population; when its sanctity is threatened, northern Louisiana's resident telepath finds the plot goes markedly deeper than anticipated. Alternate history._

Thanks are due to PMR, who graciously accepted my offer request to pre-read.

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><p>It would be hard to say what I liked least about tonight's outfit. It could be the corset, which wasn't as bad as it could be, but was making it difficult to bend down to pull things out from under the bar. The skirt was another possibility, since it had this amazing ability to absorb booze and then let it evaporate just slowly enough that I was always smelling vodka. By the end of the night, though, the garter belt would probably be winning hands down; sure, it was the six-strap, super-supportive, takes-an-F3-tornado-to-move kind, but it pinched just often enough to keep me snarling. At least I didn't have to cake on the grease paint anymore - between it being winter and me keeping essentially vampire hours for the past three months, my tan was deader than my boss.<p>

Not that I could really complain. Sure, the Lolita look was not the most conducive to being an effective bartender, but at least I wasn't dressed like a member of the Addams' extended family, and I had to admit the "innocent" thing Pam was supposedly playing on with this getup sure did get me better tips with the fanged crowd. Plus, it was kind of fun to look like a relic of Victorian England.

_"What are you wearing?"_

_I looked down at myself, in case I'd somehow managed to put my underwear on over my pants or something. My tank top and jeans were in order, as I'd expected them to be. "Uh...work clothes?"_

_Pam looked at me like I was slow, which wasn't much different than usual, then gestured that I should follow her into the back. Her outfit was something to be reckoned with, and I suppose given her own transformation from twinsets-and-pearls suburbanite to dominatrix it wasn't surprising that I'd be expected to go with something a bit more extreme. At least I'd gotten the 'wear black' memo._

_She led me into an office and told me to stand and wait. While she disappeared into a closet across the room, I took the chance to look around, both visually and less so. The waitresses were in the back room, and from what I could get from their fuzzed-out minds, they weren't discussing the current political situation in Myanmar. Not for the first time, I was grateful that I couldn't be glamoured. Pam emerged a moment later holding something on a hanger that was more hole than cloth._

_"This will do for now. I will take you shopping tomorrow."_

_"Shopping for what?" I was pretty sure I knew the answer, even before the words left my mouth. Pam gave me that exasperated can-you-be-any-more-stupid look again and declined to answer. I sighed and wandered off to find somewhere to change._

_What had looked terrible on the hanger wasn't actually so bad. Sure, if I wore it outside I'd be picked up for soliciting in a heartbeat, but at least the important bits were covered and the top was tight enough across the chest that I wouldn't fall out of it when I bent across the bar. Still, it was definitely something to get used to._

"Bloody Mary." I eyed the kid, leaning against the bar with his cash proffered, trying to play it cool. Poor thing didn't know how easy he made it for me.

"Nope. In fact, I'm going to have to ask you to give me your ID and leave."

He was trying so hard to look offended, rather than nervous. He was also failing miserably. "What?"

"Your ID? You know, that small piece of plastic, about this big," I gestured with my hands, "that you used to con your way in here? I'm going to need to take that from you, and then you are going to march right back out of here and go home." I stared at him, hard. Sometimes that was enough to convince them, if they thought I might be a vamp (I never impersonated one, because that would get me dead real fast, just dabbled in imitating their mannerisms), but most of the time I had to throw in a threat or two.

"Look, you can give it to me and walk out of here of your own volition, or you can have it taken from you and be carried out. If you get carried out, you're never getting back in, even when you are of age. Pam has a knack for faces." I sealed it with my 'crazy Sookie' smile while he fumbled with his wallet, then giggled to myself when he all but ran for the door.

_"Why should I hire a weak little human like you? We've had a lot of success with vampire bartenders." The blonde conducting the interview - she hadn't bothered to introduce herself - was short but imposing, which I imagine made her a big hit with the fangbangers._

_"Well, aside from the fact that I smell good - I saw your nostrils flare when I came in - I can guarantee I'm better at catching fake IDs than whoever works the door."_

_"I work the door."_

_"And I'm sure you're very effective, but can you distinguish between humans who are nervous about meeting vampires and humans who are nervous because they're underage?"_

_She smiled, and I caught a hint of fang. "No. I assume you can?"_

_"Easily."_

_"How?"_

_"Trade secret." I smirked to hide my uncertainty. This was a dangerous game to play, and I hoped I'd judged her right. It was always possible that I'd guessed wrong, and that the pink twinset she was wearing to conduct interviews for what amounted to a goth bar didn't mean she had a sense of humor. I really hoped she had a sense of humor._

_After what seemed like far too long, she laughed. "You have attitude. I like that. What else have you got?"_

After that one, there were a couple others. One was a repeat offender - a nineteen-year-old college student I'd let walk twice already. She tried to avoid me by stopping at Long Shadow's half, but I saw her and muttered under my breath, knowing he would hear and let me deal with her. Doing my best to be as sneaky as a vamp, I sidled up while she was distracted.

"Hey, sugar. Who are you pretending to be tonight?" I gave her my most saccharine grin and was pleased when she gave a start. Resignedly, she pulled her ID from a back pocket and dropped it on the bar, making to leave.

"Uh-uh. Three strikes, my dear." I gave a signal, and she found her way blocked by Chow. Without ceremony, the back-up bartender and (assumed) former Yakuza member picked her up by the arms and carried her out; from the way her thoughts went all fuzzy, he also glamoured her into not coming back until she was legally allowed once they reached the parking lot. I didn't exactly approve of that method of handling the problem, but since my only grounds were that it was illegal (if you got caught) and immoral (like vampires care), I didn't have much to stand on. Anyway, even I had to admit that while my threats of permanent expulsion were pretty effective at keeping most of the kids out, it was more profitable to handle it their way.

The ones with fakes always seemed to come in early, within the first couple hours after dark, and once they were cleared out I could start working the crowd. Most of the time I kept things pretty simple with shadow passes and some light juggling, but when they started to get bored, like tonight when the vamps were being a little _too_aloof, I'd crank up the tricks and get a proper show going. Pam had been skeptical about the flair bartending, and that hadn't surprised me. After all, Fangtasia was in Shreveport, not Vegas, and the regular clientele was not likely to be impressed. It worked well for the tourists, though, and they were the ones who needed to be convinced to stick around.

The tourists, of course, were also the ones with the worst drink choice. Aside from the clothes, you could always tell by what they ordered. I had never served so many cocktails - not even when I worked on Bourbon Street - and they were always red. Bloody Marys, vodka cranberries, Cosmopolitans, and our house specialty: the Screwdriver to the Jugular. I'd introduced that one during my second week to cash in on the predilection for red, and it had quickly become a favorite.

_"So, you are the new bartender." I looked up from the limes I was slicing, taking advantage of the just-after-dark lull. I missed having a barback._

_"I am. And you're Eric." I'd heard a lot of fangbangers complaining when he hadn't been there Sunday night, but their thoughts hadn't completely prepared me for how gorgeous he was in person. The eyes alone, blue as the Gulf, could melt hearts, not to mention the silky blonde hair that brushed his broad, muscular shoulders. I schooled my features to neutral and asked, "What can I get you, Sheriff?"_

_He smirked, though at what I wasn't sure. "True Blood, O-negative, please."_

_"Sure thing." I pulled one out of the ice and popped the cap with my speed opener, letting it hover over my shoulder as I put the bottle in the microwave. I could feel him watching me, and when I put the bottle and napkin down in front of him, he had the most peculiar grin on._

_"I did not advertise for a bartender. How did you know to come here?"_

_"One of the guys I worked with down in New Orleans, Charles Twining, knows Long Shadow, so when he found out I was coming back upstate he suggested I look into this place."_

_"And are you finding his advice well-founded?"_

_"So far so good." I went back to my limes for a minute while he sipped at his blood. When he didn't leave immediately, I looked up at him. "Ask you a question?"_

_"Another one?"_

_"Yes."_

_"You may."_

_"How open would you be to an experiment? Just a little one, mind."_

_"Oh?"_

_"Yeah. I've noticed that the tourists are big on red drinks. What would you say to trying out a new one? Something unique to this club?"_

I was just getting settled into a rhythm and noticing that I was drawing a crowd when I picked up a note of triumph from the undercover cop I'd been monitoring for the past hour. Cursing, because I knew he'd found one of our patrons being less than discreet in the bathroom and was gleefully radioing it in, I went hands-off with the routine (telekinesis had been my ace in the hole for the interview) and beckoned to bossman Eric in the only way I knew would make him annoyed enough to come in a hurry: the double-finger point.

He was next to me in a flash, growling his response, "What?"

"We're about to be raided. Luka's in the bathroom again, and this time a cop found him." Eric knew what I meant. Someone caught Luka every couple of weeks, since he has the impulse control of a three-year-old child, never mind that at somewhere upwards of thirty years undead he was hardly a newborn anymore. Eric was still trying to figure out what to do about him, since the offense isn't really great enough for an official punishment from the Sheriff and his maker had been killed by some Fellowship loonies.

"How long?"

"He called it in less than a minute ago, so I'd say three minutes, tops." He gave me a puzzled look, probably wondering how I could know that when I'd been very occupied behind the bar and the cop had no doubt still been in the bathroom. I gulped, since the whole point of letting them know about the telekinesis had been to keep them from guessing about the telepathy, and hoped that he would leave it be for now.

"Fine. Get yourself out of here, and make sure anyone you pass gets out, too." Unspoken but understood was that by 'anyone,' he meant any vamps, who were his primary concern (as Pam was fond of saying, 'vampires first'). I nodded sharply, but he was already gone.

I took less than a minute to clean up, doing simple things like shutting the ice chest and making sure the faucet was off, and then I was out the back door, pulling my keys out of the little clutch I stashed behind the bar while I worked and jumping into my car. As I floored it out of the lot, I noticed that Eric's Corvette and Pam's crossover were long gone. Fortunately, home was in the opposite direction from Fangtasia as the nearest Shreveport police station, so I was able to gun it most of the way back.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

The problem with my commute being so long is that it gives me a lot of time to think, and by the time I got to Bon Temps I was practically shaking. I couldn't see any way I'd be able to keep the telepathy secret anymore, at the least from Eric and probably from the whole of the Shreveport vampire community. I'd already had one set of vampires trying to take advantage down in New Orleans, and I really didn't care to repeat the experience. Anyway, since I was fairly certain Bill had been working for the Queen and I _knew_ Eric did, this was more than likely going to put me right back in the same pretty pickle.

As I pulled around to the back of my house, driving slowly on the old gravel drive, I noticed a light was still on in the kitchen. I checked my dash clock; I was home earlier than usual, but it was still late. Gran knew better than to wait up for me, and this made me worried that something awful had happened that she didn't want to tell me over the phone. Frowning, I made my way into the house, locking everything up before turning to look at the kitchen table and the person sitting there. The person who was not my Gran.

"Sookie, my dear. I am sorry it has been so long."

_"School is so hard! Why is everyone so noisy all the time? Why can't they be quiet like you, Grandpa Fintan?"_

_He smiled down at me, sulking on the porch steps, and sighed. "Well, Sookie, my dear, because they do not know how to be quiet. I can teach you how to not hear them, if you would like."_

_He sat down next to me, slowly and carefully, because he was so used to pretending to be an old man. When he thought he was alone, or just with Gran, all the slow jerkiness would disappear and his steps would become as smooth as a dancer's, and if the light was right I could see that the silver would go out of his hair and his face would be as smooth as my daddy's had been. Jason never saw, because he was too noisy and Grandpa Fintan always heard him stomping around. He wasn't around much because he was a salesman, but when he was it was like suddenly the world was full of magic._

_I smiled back at him. It was impossible not to. "Yes, Grandpa Fintan, I would like that very much," I replied, mimicking his formal speech._

_He chuckled, ruffling my hair around. "Then let us begin."_

"And that's the meat of it. I didn't mean to give myself away, but I can't see how I can avoid telling him now." I'd joined Grandpa Fintan at the table after making myself a cup of tea, which I was now clutching like an anchor.

He nodded sagely, which was an odd motion for someone who looked barely older than me; he'd dropped the pretense of being an old man after he told me and Jason that he was the son of a fairy prince, right before he faked his own death. "You have created a bit of a problem, yes."

"But how do I fix it? I could lie, but he's pretty much a living lie detector, so that's liable to fail. I could run, but I don't really have the resources, plus I like it here. And I like my job."

"Then let me ask you this: if he was not subservient to the Queen, would you trust him to know?"

"I don't know. I mean, he treats me better than the other human employees, but that might just be because I make him extra money, not that he likes me."

Grandpa Fintan thought on that for several minutes, leaning forward once he'd come to a decision. "Sookie, I cannot say that I am pleased that you have decided to work for a vampire, nor that you are so involved with the supernatural community, even on the periphery. However, since you have done so, it is only fair to say that you have chosen the best option. Eric Northman has a reputation of being honorable and shrewd, as well as a great warrior. My father, your great-grandfather Niall, has had some limited dealings with him in the past for just this reason. As such, I would be incredibly surprised if he decided to hand you over to the Queen once he understand the breadth of your abilities. In simple terms, a happy telepath is a more cooperative telepath, and if he can keep you happier by keeping you in his Area, he probably will. Politically it would also be a wise move, so long as does not seek to keep your abilities from the Queen should she require them."

I frowned. "That assumes I'm willing to work for him as a telepath and not just a bartender."

"By your accounting, you have been working for him as both already, even if he has not known it." He shook his finger at me. "If you missed that, my dear, you are very tired indeed. Go to sleep. I will be by to check on you again soon." He stood, taking my mug with him to put in the sink, then unlocked the door and left, disappearing into the night.

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><p><em>Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind.<em>


	2. In Which There Is A Notable Absence

Erm, chapter the second. There's a brief note I'd recommend you read at the bottom, but I can't force you.

As before, thanks are due to PMR, who helps me to look less like an idiot.

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><p>Eventually, the buzzer sounding in my dream to tell me the tub still wasn't clean (weird dream, very frustrating) resolved itself into the telephone. I took a bleary look at the clock next to my bed, groaned because I'd only gotten about six hours of sleep, and buried my head under the pillow. The ringing didn't stop, and I couldn't hear Gran shuffling toward the phone, so I threw myself across the bed and flung a hand toward the receiver on the far side of the clock.<p>

"H'lo?" I kept my eyes shut and rolled away from the window.

"Sookie?"

"Speaking. Sam?" I groaned a little, inwardly. I'd worked part-time for Sam during high school and full-time for a couple years after while I saved money for college, so now that I was back I'd sub for him once in a while to pick up a little extra cash; what I really needed right now, though, was to sleep for a couple more hours, not pick up someone's shift.

"Mm-hm. I don't suppose I could get you to come in for a few hours, could I _cher_? Arlene's home with a pair of sick kids and she was due to work at lunch today."

"Uh..." I peeled my eyes open and cast about for an excuse. "Hold on a minute." I grabbed the piece of paper I'd seen on the table and scanned it. "It looks like I missed a call from work while I was asleep, and they need me to come in early." Actually, what it said was that they would be opening late, but that I was expected to arrive at the normal time or earlier for an employee meeting.

"What for? Fangtasia doesn't open until six or so, right?"

"Yeah, but there was an incident last night, so we're having a meeting, which means I need to go in early to do my prep and clean up the stuff I left out, since we all had to get out in a hurry."

"So, no?"

I sighed, my conscience getting the better of me. "I can't cover her whole shift, Sam, but I can be there for a couple hours over the rush. Would that be alright?"

"Be great. See you in about an hour, then."

"Mm," I grunted, but he'd already hung up. I put the phone back in the cradle and yawned. An hour. Not enough time to go back to bed, so I'd have to see if I could grab a quick nap after I got back. Groaning, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and got up, hot on the trail of coffee.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

In general, I like waitressing. I'm good at it, and it gives me ample opportunities to work on my telepathy in an environment where the thoughts aren't ninety-percent about sex. Running on six hours of sleep after an adrenaline high, though, it was tricky to bounce around and be pleasant, not to mention difficult to keep everyone out of my head. Since my tips weren't bad for the lunch crowd, I figured I was doing alright, even if I felt beat.

Sam seemed to think so, too, because every time I went 'round the bar to fetch some drinks, he'd say something to imply that if I wanted to come back full-time, he'd be very happy to have me. After about an hour, I was pretty sure he had some ulterior motive to wanting me around, and while I made it a rule not to peek in the boss's head, even a temporary boss, I figured I had a very good guess what it was. I wasn't surprised - I am aware that I'm pretty, and my impressions from many a bar patron suggest that I have just about the best set of tits south of the Mason-Dixon line - but I was a little annoyed that he only seemed to want me now that there was someone else vying for my attention, even if it was only as an employer.

As the hours wore on (few though they were), I started getting agitated, especially when the real rush cleared out and I had more time to think. What was I going to tell Eric when he asked how I knew about the raid? How would he react? I didn't think he would kill me, since I hadn't actually lied to him (omission isn't a lie...not exactly, anyway), but I couldn't really rule it out. It was small comfort that I can't hear vampires, because I was next to certain that being able to hear their secrets would be a death sentence for me. By the time two rolled around and Sam said I could leave, I was a ball of nerves and considering breaking out some of Gran's emergency bourbon to calm myself down.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I beat the sun to work, so I knew that I would be safe there for a little while. Bobby Burnham, Eric's day man, let me in, his thoughts a dark cloud of resentment toward me. I'd never figured out quite what his problem was, but it seemed to be related to what he assumed was an incredible perception for body language. He was not going to be pleased if and when he found out I could read his thoughts as though they were printed on his forehead. It wasn't that he was a loud broadcaster, like my friend Amelia down in New Orleans, but his thoughts were very crisp and easy to read if I checked. And I did check, every once in a while, because working with vampires can skew your worldview and I wanted to make sure I had a heads' up if he decided to act on his anger. Tonight, we were good, though as I walked away his thoughts went to worrying about something the accountant had told him.

He disappeared into Eric's office immediately, leaving me free to ignore him and throw myself into making up for the neglectful cleanup the night before and prepping for tonight's crowd. I'd scrubbed the entire surface of the bar and was in the process of rinsing all the pourers when the vampires came in. I counted three voids, which probably meant the owners had all come together to talk to me. I started to chew my lip, listening for their passage down the corridor and hoping my sense of foreboding was overreaction and not a latent talent for prophecy kicking in. I couldn't handle another "quirk."

Pam appeared out of the back corridor and indicated that I should follow her back to Eric's office. I wanted to stay in the open, but it would probably look suspicious if I asked, so I didn't. I wiped my hands and followed her back to where the others were waiting, Long Shadow in a back corner and Eric behind the desk. I sat in the indicated visitor's chair, making a point to look as nonchalant as possible, though my posture ended up more ramrod-straight than relaxed. Pam settling between me and the door didn't help my nerves. Still, the mindlessness of the cleaning had helped - I was not so much nervous as concerned and cautious, and that was probably a good thing.

Eric regarded me pensively for several moments, and I took that opportunity to think for perhaps the hundredth time how utterly unfair it was that he was so astonishingly good-looking. When he was ready, he leaned forward and asked, in a most conversational tone, "Tell me, Sookie, how was it you knew of the raid? I had thought briefly that you had been informing for the police, but in that case you wouldn't be concerned with telling me, so it is with regret that I admit I am puzzled."

I took a deep breath, leaning forward as well to answer, "I'm a telepath. I heard his thoughts as he called it in." Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw movement behind Eric. It was very slight, and I was sure that I wouldn't have seen it if I'd been looking directly at it.

"How intriguing." His eyes were momentarily bright with interest, but then they clouded over as the inevitable thought occurred.

"I can't read yours or any other vampire's mind," I hurriedly assured him. "Just humans and the two-natured, though they're harder."

"No, you cannot," he agreed after gazing at me intently for several breaths, "That would have drawn a reaction, if you could." I couldn't help but blush at that, since I knew the sort of thing he would be thinking at me.

"That's how I catch the fake IDs so quickly. Even if they look calm, they're always either worried that they're going to get caught or feeling smug because they fooled the bouncer. And those drainers last month - they were thinking about the new net they'd bought, and how excited they were to try it out. And that tourist who came in and asked for a brandy old-fashioned - if he hadn't been thinking so hard that no one ever knew how to make them properly when he went on vacation, I would've had to ask." I was babbling, I knew, pleased because he didn't seem angry, but trying to prove my worth nonetheless.

He waited a beat once I'd finished, then laughed. It was a great, booming laugh that grabbed ahold of my libido and shook it, bringing another blush to my cheeks. Imperiously, he gestured at the other two. "Go. The immediate matter is settled, and Miss Stackhouse and I have things to discuss."

They left at speed, but Eric continued to regard me for several moments before getting on with this discussion he thought we should have. "So. You are a telekinetic telepath. I am told these things often come in threes..."

"If you're asking if I can teleport," I popped over to the couch, "the answer is yes." I stepped back to my original seat and continued, "I don't do it often, though, because it's really tiring and kind of hurts."

Eric was grinning like the cat who ate the canary. "And what is the origin of these abilities, I wonder? Do you know?"

I grinned right back, trying to look as feral as he did. "A girl's got to keep some secrets, doesn't she?"

"You are a most intriguing human, Sookie Stackhouse. I am glad Pam decided to hire you." He smiled again, a real panty-melter this time, and asked, "Since it seems I have been unwittingly underpaying you for your services, I feel obliged to make an offer of restitution."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Would you be averse to taking on some consulting work in addition to tending my bar, at an appropriately generous rate of compensation?"

"By 'generous,' do you mean 'equivalent to wages lost'?"

His eyebrows shot up a fraction of an inch. "That's it?"

"Eric, I have to make a living. If this work takes me away from the bar, just pay me as though I'd been here."

"Anything else?"

I thought for a moment, biting my lip. "Can I get you to agree to turn any criminals I find over to the appropriate law enforcement agencies?"

He seemed to consider this for several seconds, his eyes narrowing as he stared at me. I tried very hard not to twitch. "I can make every effort to see that any wrongdoing uncovered via your ability is brought to the attention of the most relevant authority."

"That's not what I asked at all."  
>"Nonetheless, it is what I am willing to concede."<p>

"Not good enough. Human criminals will be turned over to human police, or I won't do it, not willingly." I knew I couldn't hope to get him to budge on vampire criminals, but they weren't as much my concern anyway - human jails were notoriously bad at holding vampires.

The set of his jaw complemented my own stubborn expression, and after about thirty seconds of silence, I had the feeling that I'd need to say something more.

"Consider: you're trying to run a business here, one that relies on humans in a number of ways. If you deal with human criminals in your own way and it gets out, how long do you think that support will last?"

His jaw relaxed somewhat as he thought, but I was still worried that I'd pushed too hard. Eventually, though, he gave in. "Fine."

I nodded happily, making sure to smile even if I didn't really feel like it. "Great. And this is on a freelance basis, leaving me the right to refuse any job at any time?"

"Of course." I didn't quite believe that last answer; just because I had the right didn't mean I would be allowed to exercise it, or not be coerced in some way to waive it. It was probably the best I could hope for, though.

"Then no, I am not averse."

He leaned back and considered me, his expression unreadable. "You work so hard to cultivate this innocent exterior that it is easy to forget how shrewd you are."

"It's easier to act like a dumb blonde and surprise people than convince them you're smart. Is there anything else you wanted to know?" Predictably, he leered. "Other than that?"

The leer disappeared, replaced with a look of calculating amusement. "I can tell you want me, and clearly you are aware of my intentions. Why not let yourself have me?"

I smiled back, holding back laughter as I shook my head. "There's more to it than that, Eric."

"Then no, as far as I am aware our business is concluded."

"Not quite. I have a concern." His only response was to quirk an eyebrow. "Long Shadow, uh, seems uncomfortable about something. About me. He tried to glamour me a few nights ago, and now he's probably figured out I can't be glamoured at all, if I had to guess by his reaction to my...news. So I'm worried that my disability will make it difficult to work with vampires, too, which doesn't leave me a lot of options, you know?" I stopped and let him chew on that, mentally adding the note that I wouldn't trust Long Shadow with a stake-lined chasm between us. Hopefully he would pick up what I was laying down. "I like working here, Eric, and I don't want things I can't help getting in the way."

For a flash, out of the blue, I had a direct line to what Eric was thinking, and it was as much terrifying as it was informative. All at once, I knew what Bobby had been worrying about (an inconsistency Bruce had found in the books to the tune of $60,000), and that what I'd said made Long Shadow Eric's prime suspect. I covered it up with my emergency smile, hoping he read my fear as related to my continued employment and not getting a peek at his thoughts. It seemed to work.

"I will take that under advisement. Now, unless there is something else..." I shook my head. "We open in an hour, so you should get back to your prep." Knowing a dismissal when I heard one, I stood and went back to work at my bar, stopping only to change into the evening's costume.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I was swamped for several hours right after opening. The crowd wasn't particularly huge, but aside from Chow at the door and surly Thalia kicking people in the corner, the vampire bar was completely lacking in vampires. Despite, or perhaps because of, this oddity, there were a ridiculous number of drink orders coming in that I had to handle all by myself, because even though Long Shadow would normally be working the bar with me, he was conspicuously absent. Add to that the fact that I was short of sleep, had been running at a near-panic level most of the day, and was putting on my best flair show in a desperate attempt to keep the crowd placated in the absence of vampires to throw themselves at, and I was exhausted well before my shift was up, with no respite in sight.

Eventually, just before I was forced to desert my post or pass out, the missing attractions appeared from the back in a stream. Three or four that I didn't know well made their way into the crowd, Pam strode past me on my way to the door, and Eric stopped to order a blood.

"What'll it be tonight, boss?"

"We have something new in this week, don't we?" Since I was pretty sure he had a perfect memory and had approved the order himself, I wasn't sure what he was playing at.

"Mm-hm. That Mexican stuff. What type?"

"B-positive tonight, I think."

"Sure thing." I dug one out of the cooler and popped it in the microwave, then went to take care of another patron while it warmed. When I got back to him, I held his blood hostage for a moment, asking, "Where's Long Shadow?"

Something flickered across his eyes as he answered, "He is unavailable. I shall send Chow to assist you."

"Thanks. Let me know how that is. I need to think up some sort of promotion to get people drinking it." His only acknowledgement was a slight flick of his fingers as he walked away, going to hold court (in a manner of speaking) at his usual table. I wondered sometimes why he bothered to drink the synthetic. I'd been told the flavor was comparable to the real thing, and that the aftertaste got better in the more expensive brands, but still...he clearly had access to all the real blood he could want. Women, and some men, basically threw themselves at him, and I'd seen Pam lead more than a few donors to the back when he was working in his office. My best guess was that he was keeping up appearances for the tourists, especially since he hardly ever finished a bottle, but that didn't really sit right. If that was the case, he'd have a rule requiring the vampires working the floor to have a bottle in front of them at all times, and that was clearly not it. My musings were interrupted by the cries of a noisy tourist, so I went back to work until I was rescued by Chow a few minutes later. I gave him a curt nod by way of greeting, then went to go have a sit-down in storage.

After twenty minutes of blissful silence (the door to the storage room is very heavy, and all that penetrates is the thumping of KDED over the sound system) and raised feet, I made my way back down the hall and behind the bar, only to find it almost completely clear. The crowd had packed into the middle of the room, and now that I was noticing it, they were counting and cheering, apparently watching something...something that was happening in the general vicinity of Eric's table. A few of them seemed more reluctantly enthralled and kept glancing backward toward the door, as though they really wanted to leave but couldn't pull themselves away. Fighting down the feeling that the bottom had dropped out of my stomach, I dipped into the minds of several of the louder broadcasters. I bit my lip and looked to my co-bartender; since he was occupied with a stick-thin fangbanger, it was up to me to deal with this, and I really didn't want to.

Elbowing my way through the crowd took far longer than I would have liked, but as I got closer to the middle and the thoughts around me had a clearer idea what was going on, my determination only grew stronger. When I finally broke through to the center, I wasn't so sure I wanted to be there, because what I found was very strange.

Eric was sitting with his feet propped on his table, totally at ease and ignoring the knot of people around him. What was grabbing everyone's attention was the fact that he had perched a lighting truss on his flattened palm, which itself had a seated tourist balanced on each end, and was currently occupied doing arm curls with the whole thing.

* * *

><p>Right about now would be the ideal time to look up the "Most Interesting Man in the World" advertising campaign that Dos Equis has been running for the past couple of years. It is the original inspiration for this story (though it's since run off into unknown territory), and there are several references in upcoming chapters, not to mention above. There are several compilation videos on Youtube, but this one should get you started: http :  / www. youtube. com / watch ?v= IxgiTeXKOOc

_Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind._


	3. In Which There Is Ridiculosity

Acknowledgement as always to PMR, who catches those little logical errors before I can embarrass myself publicly.

* * *

><p>At the speed of a text message, Pam was inside the club and tossing patrons out of her way, meeting me seconds later at the edge of the ring around Eric, who was still performing feats of great strength with an air of complete boredom. I frowned slightly, jealous of her ability to clear her own path so easily.<p>

"What do we do about this?"

"You go put him in his office and keep him out of trouble, and I'll take care of clearing everyone out."

"Alright. How do we get him to stop?" Pam didn't bother answering me. Instead, she stepped into the circle, grabbed the truss from Eric (she needed two hands, I noticed) and carried it and the two people clinging to their seats through the crowd and toward the door. Distracted, the rest of the spectators started wandering after her, leaving me to deal with my boss.

I turned away from Pam's Pied Piper routine, shaking my head at the predictability of Fangtasia's clientele, and took a good look at Eric. In the absence of an audience, he appeared to have gone into downtime, so I took a moment to figure out how I could get him to do what Pam wanted, since I sure as shit couldn't compel him. I couldn't think of anything clever, so I went the direct route.

"Eric? Let's go back to your office, okay?"

He blinked, coming out of stasis, and turned to look up at me. "Yes, we can do that." He swung his legs off the table and stood, pausing for a moment to carry out a stretch that was no doubt entirely for my benefit. I rolled my eyes and started walking toward the back, hoping that he wouldn't notice that I hadn't been entirely unaffected by the show. I grabbed his abandoned bottle of synthetic as I went past, out of habit, and tossed it behind the bar - there was always a residue on the inside once it was finished, so I wanted to rinse it before throwing it in the recycling. This gave me the opportunity to get behind Eric, which was good, because leading him had felt like he was trying to burn his initials into the back of my neck with his eyes.

I'd barely managed to shut the door and he was there, crowding me, trapping me with arms braced against the door to either side of my head. I jumped a little, because he'd just kind of appeared there, like vampires do sometimes. He was smiling down at me, looking incredibly predatory, and it was terrifying. It might have been sexy, had I not been acutely aware that he actually _was _a predator As it stood, I was having a very hard time controlling my breathing, and not in a good way.

"Eric..."

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, yet."

"Well, let's keep it that way, alright? Pam will be back soon, so how about you go sit behind your desk, and I'll sit over there on the couch, and we'll just keep to ourselves, okay?"

He blinked at me, frowning ever so slightly, and backed off. "Do you really want me to 'keep to myself'?"

I took a deep breath and escaped to the couch before I answered that extremely loaded question. "Yes, Eric, I do. We have work to do, and now is not the time." He let that hang in the air as he settled into his big chair, responding silently with a significant look.

"I didn't say there is a time," I scolded, glaring back at him.

"Perhaps not." He fell silent then, leaning back and dropping his booted feet on the desk to wait for Pam to finish her wrangling. Objectively, I was sure it hadn't taken that much longer, but what with Eric watching me like he was contemplating which vein he'd like to taste first, I was praying for that door to open, counting down in my head like a little kid trying to get the stop light to change faster. Disappointingly, he kept staring at me once Pam came in, even while he started making outrageous requests.

"Pam, I would like you to find me a horse and train it to read my email. I would do it myself, but I am too busy dealing with all the email."

"I'll see what I can do." I looked for any indication that she was anything less than serious, but as far as I could tell, this was not one of Pam's sarcastic moments. "What is more pressing is what the hell you thought you were doing just now?"

At that, he turned to look at his child, and I was able to relax, exhaling rather loudly. "Drawing the interest of our customers. They seemed very interested to me."

"Yes, they were. So interested, in fact, that I had to glamour nearly a dozen of them to get them to leave."

"And why did we want them to leave? We do not close for several hours, during which time they would have had the opportunity to purchase many overpriced drinks." He seemed genuinely perplexed, and I couldn't help but correct him on his last point.

"Actually, they were so...enthralled with you that no one was buying drinks, or at least they weren't when I came back from break."

Pam nodded in my direction, pleased I was providing supporting evidence. "Thank you, Sookie. See, Eric, you were being too interesting. Furthermore, it is not normal for you to actively court the attention of the humans." His face scrunched up with displeasure briefly, then softened back to neutral as he considered her point.

"You are correct. It is abnormal, but very intriguing." He seemed to have developed a tic in his temple.

Hesitantly, I raised a hand, trying to gain their attention. Of course, when I got it, I didn't want it, as I hadn't anticipated how unsettling having the full attention of two agitated vampires would be. "Uh, hm, ah." I shook my head and turned my attention to my nails, which needed trimming. "It's just that, doesn't demanding an email-reading horse seem strange to you as well? I mean, I don't know what you two discuss back here normally, but that seems a little over-the-top to me."

I glanced up then. Eric had pulled out a mirror and appeared to be attempting to convey complex ideas using only his eyebrows, every so often pausing to make slight adjustments to the fall of his hair over his face. Pam, on the other hand, was blinking at me, her head slightly cocked, while she considered my point. "I would not say the request itself is out of character."

"But?"

"But it is odd that he did not seem to be making a joke."

"Right. And now he's preening."

"Correct."

"Does he do that often?"

"Almost never."

"So would you think it fair to say that he is acting very out of character?" I paused briefly. "Almost as if he is _compelled_ to do so?"

Her eyebrows raised a tiny amount in surprise, though whether it was because of the content of my thought or the fact that I had it remained to be seen. "Perhaps so. Eric, do you feel like you _need_ to do something right now?"

Eric turned away from the mirror and stared at us. "No."

Pam frowned as he went back to the mirror. I took a shot.

"You were on the floor for a long time. Don't you have some Sheriff-y things you should be doing?"

This time he didn't bother to look away from his reflection to answer. "I considered the issues at hand while I was 'on the floor,' as you put it, and I have solved them to the limits of the information available to me. I'll send out the appropriate notifications when I finish."

"Finish what?"

"Perfecting my game face. It was already spectacular, and probably unbeatable, but there is always room for improvement."

Pam and I shared a moment of frustration bordering on panic, though her face was substantially less motile in expressing it. With a small gesture, she indicated that I should follow her out of the office. We took a few steps down the hall and ducked into the tiny office that Bruce used when he came to do the books. As I stepped into the room, she pushed the door closed and leaned against it, effectively trapping me in the corner with only a metal desk between us. Fortunately for me, she was too busy being concerned for Eric to think of me as a cornered meal.

"That...is not right." She pointed in the general direction of his office. "He can't be seen like that. It would ruin everything we've built in this...place."

Since I was pretty sure she'd just opted not to say something disparaging about my home, I refrained from commenting and addressed the real issue. "How do you propose we keep him out of sight? He's a fixture, people will notice if he's gone."

Instead of answering, Pam pulled out her cell phone and started texting rapidly.

"What are you doing?"

"I can hear him typing. I'm finding out what he's doing."

"Oh. And?"

She ignored me some more, shooting off several rapid-fire texts and leaving me to wait. Eventually, she stopped and handed me the phone to read, saying, "He's back to normal." Reading the texts, I had to agree.

**Me:** I hear typing. Have you perfected your game face?

**Eric:** I stopped.

**Me: **So you're working?

**Eric: **Yes.

**Me: **Do you still want me to teach a horse to read your email?

**Eric: **No. That would be stupid.

**Me: **Then why did you command it?

**Eric: **I don't know.

**Me: **The preening?

**Eric: **No.

**Me: **The arm curls?

**Eric: **Nor that.

**Me: **Curious.

Typically, Eric hadn't bothered to reply. As I handed the phone back, I had to admit Pam had a point, though I was reticent to declare him fully normal until we went back in and he stayed normal. I said as much, and was surprised at the speed with which Pam concurred, and even more so when she told me to stay and slipped out of the tiny room. While I waited, I settled in Bruce's chair and considered the text-message conversation.

There were a lot of things that hadn't been said, and in a way that was more telling than what had been. Pam had been very careful in her phrasing, choosing the most neutral way to inquire after his mental state, and I could only assume that it was a combination of hiding her concern and not wanting to appear too aggressive in a touchy situation. Eric's curt responses seemed to confirm that he was as unsettled as we were, and his choice to only condemn his actions when they were reiterated as an almost-suggestion by Pam was especially telling. Combined with his aloof evaluation when we were in the room with him and the twitching that accompanied it, I could be almost sure that something was messing with his head.

"He's doing it again." Pam snapped the door shut behind her. "He started talking about a vampire bowling league, and making it more challenging by requiring an overhand technique."

I started to answer, then paused to consider the scenario. I could almost see what he was getting at, but I'd need to think about it more later. "So he's lucid when he's alone, and...whatever this is when he's got an audience. What if you talk to him, but aren't in the same room?"

"We've done that. He's normal."

"No, not quite. Texting isn't really talking. It's like writing mini-letters really fast. You're not talking to the person, you're responding to what they've written. Try calling."

"You do it."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine." He picked up on the third ring.

"Sookie." He was back to purring, but that wasn't exactly abnormal. "Are you having fun hiding in Bruce's office with Pam?"

"Uh...yes?"

"Excellent. I want your opinion on something."

"Shoot."

"I've been thinking of getting a pet. What do you think of those werepanthers out in Hot Shot?"

I hadn't been aware of any werepanthers in Hot Shot, but when I thought about it, it sort of explained how strange some of them were. Of course, that could be the inbreeding, too. "I don't think keeping people as pets is legal, Eric."

"Come now. There's nothing illegal about having a pet so long as everyone is of age and willing."

"Oh." That's what kind of pet he meant. Ick. "Eric, considering how well Weres get along with vampires, I can't imagine a werepanther would want to be your pet."

"You have a point, but I can be very persuasive." His voice dropped on the last word, and I got the distinct impression that he we'd switched topics without my knowledge or agreement. I drew in a deep breath, hoping that he couldn't hear the effect he'd had over the phone, and answered.

"I'm sure you can, Eric. Look, Pam's making a face at me, so I'll let you get back to whatever you were working on." I snapped the phone shut before he could say anything else.

"I was not making a face."

"No, but I needed an excuse. You heard all that, right?"

"Yes."

"Didn't sound normal, did it?"

"No." We were back to the simple answers, it seemed. I could do that.

"Right. So now we know that he's fine in text, but not when you talk to him, and certainly not in person." I paused for confirmation, and Pam gave me a short nod and a small rolling gesture with her hand. "I think, then, that you'll need to convince him to stay home until we figure out what's wrong, and take care of his business by email and text message."

"He won't like it."

"Can you do it?" She nodded again, her mouth set in a determined line. "Good. You do that, and I'll go clean up so I can get home and..." I trailed off, struck by a sudden thought.

"And what?" Pam stared at me, impatient.

"Call a friend of mine down in New Orleans. If this behavior has magical origins like I think it does, she can probably help." I filed the thought away for later, not wanting to present theories until I had proof.

"Good idea." I blinked, and she was gone, presumably to go tell the most stubborn workaholic I knew to stay home.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

It didn't work.

He wasn't there when I got to work, which was a good start, though since I beat him to work more often than not anyway, it didn't necessarily mean anything. As it turned out, that's all that had happened this time.

I was giving the bar a last polish before the doors opened when the general mood of the line outside shifted from tense anticipation to wary concern, and I started picking up glimpses of a trail of police cars coming down the road, lights flashing but sirens off. Since no one was panicking and the mini film-strips I was getting showed the cruisers, well, cruising, I didn't know what to do. Given the circumstances, I picked the option that seemed safest.

"Pam?" I raised my voice a little, turning to face the hallway, just to make sure she'd hear me. After a moment, I heard the sound of her heels clicking along the concrete, in no particular hurry.

"Sookie?" She was dressed in what I'd come to think of as her work uniform, just as the Lolita getups were mine: a filmy black dress with a corseted leather bodice and tall black boots, accented by eye-poppingly red lipstick. I indicated the parking lot with a flick of my dishrag.

"Something's going on out there. Something with police, though it looked more like a parade than a raid."

Pam frowned, almost imperceptibly. "I will investigate. I hope it is not another raid - if they find something, it would be difficult to talk it down to a fine again. Though if it is," she continued almost flippantly, "we might have grounds for a harassment lawsuit."

I hadn't know that was how the last raid had turned out, but I suppressed my curiosity with respect to that event in favor of this one. "I'll come with you. I might be able to pull something useful from the crowd."

She hardly glanced at me as she moved to the front door, fairly gliding along in her tall, tall boots. "Fine. Come along."

We stepped through the door just as the convoy of police cars pulled into the parking lot, parting like the Red Sea around a sleek-looking sports car the color of congealed blood that went growling around to Eric's parking spot. My head drooped, hands flying up to cover my face before the driver could step out and mouth chanting "no, no, no," over and over because I knew who had just arrived with a police escort. Beside me, I heard Pam curse sharply.

Eventually, though, I had to look, and there was Eric, grinning magnanimously at the assembled crowd while Pam and I watched his approach with shared horror. As soon as he stepped within range, we rushed him into the club, Pam almost spitting in her annoyance. Eric, his mind too addled to comprehend the problem, frowned at her like a small boy whose best friend had just called his favorite toy 'stupid.'

"Do you not like my new Lotus, Pam? It's an Evora - Bobby brought it in from Dallas for me."

"It's an exquisite machine," she said through clenched teeth, "but it does not explain why you are here, despite your agreement to work from home tonight, nor why you arrived surrounded my police officers.

"Ah!" He responded, his expression shifting to one of delight, pleased that he would get to tell a story. "I was putting the Evora through its paces, and perhaps pushing the speed, and I was stopped. However, they found me so interesting that - after they were done questioning me - they offered to escort me here."

I couldn't help it. "Questioning you?"

He responded by chucking me on the chin. "Do not worry, fair Sookie, there is no trouble for Fangtasia. They merely wished to hear of my exploits." I sighed, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

"That answers the second half my my query, but it doesn't tell me why you left your house. You're not yourself, Eric, and you _cannot_ appear like this!"

He halted abruptly, resisting all further attempts by us to usher him into his office and out of the way. "Pamela," he responded, his voice steely, "you presume to tell me what I can and cannot do?"

Realizing she'd struck a nerve, Pam bowed her head and bobbed slightly from the waist. "Apologies, Master. I am merely trying to make sure that all is in order until you are restored to your proper state." Her phrasing was intensely deliberate, as though she was subjecting each word to deep scrutiny before vocalizing it.

His face softened slightly as he responded. "Your intentions are noted, but it does not change what you said. However, I shall take your concern to heart and remain in my office. You may see to it that I am not disturbed."

We both blinked as he stalked away, disappearing into his office with a firm click of the door latch. Finally, I turned to Pam. "Well, that was odd." Odd wasn't quite the right word for it, since it was more like he was being himself, but I couldn't think of a better way to describe it.

She nodded sharply, understanding what I meant. "Yes."

~~~ИΞEN~~~

Amelia called about three days later. I'd sent her the bottle of Equis Rojos from which Eric had been drinking - right before everything when pear-shaped - on a hunch, and had been hoping ever since that this week wouldn't been the one where the US Postal Service suffered a massive logistical meltdown. I was perhaps overly brusque in answering, but considering the shenanigans Eric had gotten into over the course of those three days, I felt I was justified.

"Amelia, I hope to God you have something helpful to tell me."

"Well hello to you too, Sookie. I'm fine, thanks for asking, and how are you?"

"Sorry, hon. We're just on edge up here right now. I'm glad to hear you're doing well. Could you get anything off of the bottle?"

"Mm...yes and no."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that there is definitely some magic there-"

I cut her off. "Can you reverse it?"

"That's where the no comes in. I can tell there's magic in there somewhere, but the sample's too small for me to be able to see what it's doing. The only other thing I know is that the magic tastes spicy."

"Well, shit."

"You wanna tell me what this is about, Sook?" Her tone was prying, yes, because that was how Amelia operated, but there was concern draped over the top of it.

I hesitated. I really did want to tell her, since maybe she could get a better reading on the spell lurking in the blood if she knew, but I also knew that phone lines were easy to tap, and if someone found out there was something wrong with Eric, it could mean major trouble not just for him, but for every vampire under his command, and probably us human employees as well.

"Sookie? You still there?"

"Yeah, Ames, I'm still here. I just spaced out for a second there."

"So? What's going on?"

I blatantly ignored her question. "You know, Gran's been asking after you. How about you come up for a day or two?"

Amelia sighed heavily. She hated secrets and the kind of twisty, subtext-heavy conversations they produced. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

I laughed, trying to make it sound casual and not forced "You'll have to see for yourself."

Another sigh, then the soft sound of pages flipping as she checked her planner. "It's what, half-past three? I've got tomorrow off, so I could drive up tonight..." She trailed off, not sure how to ask what sort of person was involved.

"Tonight would be perfect. You can come by the bar and entertain me until my shift's up. What time do you think you'll be by?"

I could almost hear her frowning. "Between ten and eleven. Closer to eleven, probably. It's a long drive, you know."

"Oh, I do."

"Fine. I'll see you tonight."

"I'll let whoever's working the door know to let you in."

"Alright. See you later."

"Bye."

By the time she arrived (a bit after eleven, actually), I had gotten antsy and had taken my break to go stand at the door and wait. When she pulled into the lot, I had to keep myself from running to meet her, though I did grab her arm as she got to the door and drag her past the tall, thin vampire who was checking IDs.

"Hey, Irati. This is that friend I was telling you about, Amelia. We'll just be going back to deal with that thing now." She barely nodded as I grabbed Amelia by the wrist and pulled her inside.

"Sookie! Sookie, slow down a minute. My legs are still waking up from the drive. What the hell is so urgent, anyway?" I barely glanced back at her, leading her down the staff corridor and into Bruce's office, calling for Pam just before I shut the door.

"It's my boss, Eric. He's not acting right, and I think it's the blood. He was drinking out of the bottle I sent you right before it all went wrong."

She dropped her purse on the desk and turned to me, arms crossed in business mode. "Wrong how?"

"He's been doing this really weird stuff, but only when he's got an audience. He started with doing arm curls, using a couple of the customers on chairs as a weight, and it's gotten worse. Yesterday, he was sent a trophy for his game face, and the day before that he got a 'thank you' card from the guy he backhanded into a wall and put in traction. Not to mention all the things he's been saying."

"Still trying to get into your pants?"

I glared at her. "Well, yes, but he's being very overt about it, and he doesn't let up."

"That _is_ strange." She started to say something more, but the door popped open and Pam leaned in, looking between the two of us before settling on me.

"Will she help?"

"I was just about to ask."

My friend and former roommate rubbed her hands together with unabashed glee. "Let's get to it. Show me."

Eric was in his office, because even though he acknowledged that something was wrong, he refused to hide; we had a hard time arguing with him after he brought up the fact that the appearance of normalcy would do more toward hiding his condition than disappearing until it was settled. He was still driving the highly-visible Evora - which I had to admit was a beautiful piece of engineering - but fortunately he hadn't had a police escort since the first night, so with him staying in his office and communicating by text message, we were able to maintain that semblance.

Of course, that all went to pieces the moment someone walked in the room. I'd barely shut the door behind us before he was declaring his intention to grow a beard. Pam and Amelia blinked at him in confusion, but this brought up a point that I'd wondered about.

"Eric, could you even grow a beard when you were human?"

He looked moderately affronted. "Of course. I was in mourning at the time I was turned, so I had shaved it off."

"Oh." Annoyingly, that posed more questions than it solved. "Even so, vampires revert to the state they were in at the time of their death. Assuming it's even possible to will yourself a beard, how in Sam Hill do you intend to keep it?"

He shrugged. "Growing it would be accomplishment enough, wouldn't you say? It's never been done before, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. Now, who is this?"

I resisted the urge to throw my hands up; this was getting exhausting. "This is my friend Amelia, up from New Orleans. You might know her father, Copely Carmichael?"

"The businessman, yes. Does she bring business?"

"No, I asked her up. She's a-"

"I'm a witch," she finished for me. "Sookie thought that maybe whatever was causing your behavioral issues was in the bottle of Equis Rojos you had last week, so she sent me the bottle, but there wasn't enough there for me to piece together the spell, and that's why I'm here. To read you."

"I see." He turned to me. "Is she a good witch?"

"She's very talented." I declined to mention that she was not always accurate with her talent.

"Fine." He struck a charmingly dramatic pose. "Read away."

* * *

><p><em>Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind.<em>


	4. In Which Amelia Does Magic

Acknowledgements as always to PMR, who reminded me while reading this chapter that there are definite limits to vampiric globe-trotting.

* * *

><p>It didn't look like much - mostly just Amelia staring intently at Eric and occasionally passing a hand over him. After a while, she muttered something and he was briefly illuminated from within, his skin faintly glowing a light shade of blue as she stepped around the desk to get a closer look at him. Finally, she sniffed once, spit out a final syllable, and stepped back.<p>

"Well?" If it was possible that anyone was more irritated with the situation than me, it was Pam, and she was not about to let any findings wait just to build up suspense.

"It's a good news, bad news situation." Pam glared at her, and we heard a small click as her fangs ran down behind her lips. "Bad news: I can't fix him. It's a _geas_, which can only be broken by the caster's will or death. Good news, though, is that I can put a general damping spell on him that should kick the compulsions down to the urge level, so he'll still want to be ridiculous, but he'll be able to stop himself."

"So do it."

"Okay, maybe I should have said 'good news, bad news, slightly-less-good news.' I can't do it right now. For one, I don't have the equipment with me," Pam looked slightly murderous, and Amelia valiantly ignored her, "and for two, even though it's a general spell, I'll need time to tailor it to him so it stands a chance against the generic _geas_ already there."

"I see. And how long until you can perform this spell?"

"Tomorrow. As soon after sundown as you'll have me."

"Fine. You will be here half an hour after sunset, ready to perform the spell. Sookie will make sure you get inside."

I nodded, glancing at Eric, since he had been oddly quiet. He was staring at his computer screen, and I was hesitant to lean over and see what had him so occupied. Fortunately, Amelia saved me from my curiousity.

"Alright. I'll be going, then, and you folks can get back to work. Sookie, is the spare key in the same place?"

"Sure is. I'll just walk you out."

~~~ИΞEN~~~

The call came in just over an hour later. It was fortunate that I was on break, otherwise I wouldn't have heard the phone ring, and for Amelia to call so soon after getting in to Bon Temps, it had to be important. I fumbled it out of my purse and snapped it open, my heart jumping into my throat.

"Amelia? What's wrong? Please tell me Gran hasn't had another heart attack."

"No, no, your Gran's fine. She was awake and watching TV when I came in."

That was a little weird, but not unheard of - sometimes she couldn't sleep, and the kind of programming on this late helped her turn off her brain. I sucked my lip between my teeth, then rephrased the question. "So what's up?"

"Do you have a pen and paper?"

"No. Why?"

"You're going to want to write this down."

I sighed. "Hold on." Back to Bruce's office. "Is there anything you can tell me before I get the paper?"

There was a prolonged silence on the other end, and I just knew she was shuffling her toes, trying to figure out the best way to tell me. It was moments like this that I almost - almost - wished that my telepathy worked over the phone. "Well, it's what your Gran was watching. There's this big story about vampires on CNN, and I thought you'd want to know?"

I frowned. "I appreciate the thought, but why would I need to know at work? Are we like to be attacked?"

"Um, no. I don't think so. But trust me, you want to know. Do you have paper yet?"

"Yes," I sighed, pulling a pen out of the little mug with "#1 Dad" written on it and peeling off a Post-It. "Go."

"Okay. It's a bunch of names. The first one is Zyanya Castro, then Cesar Medina, then Nathaniel Guerra," she kept going, pausing in between each name so I had enough time to write it down, until I had a list nine names long.

"Amelia, who are these people? And why am I writing down their names?"

"Vampires. From all over North America, and I guess the world, since Paolo Tosetti is some big Italian playboy. Cope introduced us a couple years ago in Milan. I guess he was doing something in New York this week."

"Yes, but _why_, Ames? Why do I need these names?"

I thought I could hear her gulp. "They're all acting like Eric. I think so, anyway. I mean, these are respected businesspeople, and they're doing some really ridiculous things. Elizabeth Verracruz went swimming, and suddenly she was surrounded by dolphins - no one knows where they came from. Paolo Tosetti was cited in the tabloid report for a party he couldn't possibly have attended - it was in L.A. - and more than half the people who actually were there swear that he was the life of the party."

"That could be a lookalike."

"No, they all admit he wasn't there. And Felicks Zuraw, he's this bar owner in Cancun, and all of a sudden he was speaking French, but it was in Russian."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"I know, but that's what the news is saying. I just thought you and your bosses would want to know. I'm going to sleep for a few hours now, and I'll get to work on the damping spell in the morning."

"Okay. Okay. You're right, they need to know. Make sure Gran gets to bed, okay?"

"Oh, didn't I say? She went, right after I came in. I told her I'd call you, and she decided that there wasn't much point staying up if I was going to tell you." That was just like Gran, staying up way too late just to make sure I got the important news. I sighed.

"That's good, then. I need to get off the phone now and get back to work, right after I tell Pam and Eric."

"Right. Sorry. I've kept you too long. 'Bye."

"Good night." I snapped the phone shut again, rubbing the back of my hand against my forehead. It wasn't my problem, not yet, but I knew I'd get dragged into it. I opened the phone and sent Pam a text, telling her to meet me at Eric's office, then walked the short distance down the hall to wait - no way was I going in there by myself, especially with him acting like he was. I wasn't waiting long.

Pam got right to the point, indicating that I should get on with it before the door was all the way shut.

"Amelia called."

"She has the damping spell ready?"

"No. She hasn't started on it yet - she only just got in. She called to give me this list," I waved the Post-It, "of vampires who seem to be acting like Eric, from all over the US and Mexico."

Pam snatched the paper, and if she had any color, I'm sure it would have drained. As it was, her face went completely blank. "Where did she get this?" There was a hint of something in her voice, and if I had to guess, it was worry.

"CNN. Sounds like it's a big story. Who are they?" She'd handed the paper to Eric, and for once he seemed focused on the business at hand.

"Old vampires. Powerful ones. There are four monarchs on this list, and most of the rest are in some position of authority."

Pam's response was brief: "Fuck."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

Amelia and I pulled up to Fangtasia caravan-style about forty-five minutes before sundown. She said it wouldn't take that long to set up the ritual for the damping spell, but I wanted to make sure there was plenty of time for it to be perfect before Pam and Eric showed up, even if they were early. Well, that and I'd thought of something else I should have her do while she was up - namely, to see if the _geas_ was on any of the rest of the stock of Equis Rojos.

We got to work right away: laying down the circle, lighting candles, arranging the various herb bundles near where they'd need to be, setting out a mop and bucket to clean the chalk off the floor before the club opened. Amelia had proposed setting everything up in Eric's office, for greater privacy, but Bobby was working in there and Bruce's office was too small, so we cleared some space on the main floor and did it in the middle of the club, surrounded by a ring of smushed-together tables and chairs.

Fortunately, we finished with plenty of time to spare, so right around sunset I led Amelia into the stock room and pointed her at the half-dozen or so cases of Equis Rojos we had. While she was gazing around at the myriad varieties of synthetic blood we had (and the occasional blend), I oh-so-casually checked the expiration dates on the Equis Rojos; honestly, it wasn't selling that well, and if it was all spelled, we were going to be losing a fair amount of money because I sure as shit wasn't going to keep it behind my bar. We had a few weeks, though, so maybe if we were able to get it un-spelled quickly, we'd be able to offload it on special before it went bad.

The magic was a little showier this time around, with the anemic glow Eric had shown manifesting now in a bright, full-bodied blue light emanating from each and every bottle we had in stock. All six cases, one of which was about half-empty. I had stopped selling it after the arm-curl incident, which meant that there were potentially upwards of a dozen vampires wandering around the Shreveport area with this _geas_ on them that we could have caught _before_ Eric. I may have sworn under my breath, and Amelia may have echoed my sentiment.

"That...is not good."

"No, it's definitely not."

"Has anyone else been acting off?"

I thought long and hard about that. Luka had been caught feeding on the premises, but that was more a scheduled event than unusual behavior. And while Long Shadow's conduct had been decidedly 'off,' it wasn't the same kind of 'off' as Eric practicing his game face or shipping in a supercar from Dallas. As for other vampires...they weren't necessarily in the bar often enough for me to notice any patterns of behavior, so I wouldn't know if they were acting out of character.

"I don't think so, but I can't know for sure. I'll ask later."

She just nodded, back to staring at the still-glowing cases. "You know, I might be able to get a better read on the spell if I take a case back to New Orleans with me."

"What do you mean? Didn't you already get a good read from Eric?"

"Well, yes, but that was pretty quick-and-dirty. If I've got enough volume to work with, I might be able to work out more of the specifics - even if I can't break it - and possibly track it back to its point of origin."

"Point of origin? Do you mean physically, or the person who put the spell on it?"

"The spellcaster, or possibly spellcasters, and with that their location. Can't be sure right now, but I might be able to find out."

I frowned again, staring sideways at the floor while I considered. Amelia was dangling a lot of valuable information in front of me, and I really wanted to let her have a case. The problem was that they weren't mine to give, so I'd either need to get approval or pay the bar back for the loss of merchandise. On a whim, I crouched down to have a look at the sell-by date on the nearest case, which turned out to be quite soon. Since I didn't think we'd get this solved within the next couple of days, I had no reason to believe Eric and Pam would be stingy with their otherwise-unusable stock - if they were going to lose money on it anyway, why bother charging me? And if they didn't see it like that...well, I'd find a way to stretch my finances.

"Do you think you need a full case, or could you take what's left of this one?" I pushed upright and poked the half-empty box with my toe.

"Hmmm. I'd rather have the full case, so I don't have to worry about running out of samples, but I could certainly make do with the what, dozen or so left in there?"

"Okay. I'll talk to the bosses about that, too, but I'm sure they'll want to know everything you can find out. You'll definitely get something to work with."

~~~ИΞEN~~~

In the few minutes of dead time we got, I parked myself behind the bar. My hands were going through the motions of getting ready to open, even though that wouldn't be for hours, but my mind was elsewhere. There was something poking at the back of my brain, something about the _geas_. Even if I didn't remember specifically who I'd sold it to, I was positive that it hadn't just been Eric, if only because the one he'd had couldn't possibly account for the half-empty case, nor could the half a dozen I still had sitting in the cooler. By all rights, there should be more vampires acting out of sorts just in Shreveport, and definitely more than the ten total cases I knew about worldwide. Either there were a lot of vampires wandering around who were way better than Eric at hiding their symptoms (unlikely), or there was something else at work here.

But what?

The problem boiled down to a lack of data, not to mention a small sample size. No matter how I turned the individual facts around in my head, I couldn't get them to assemble into a coherent whole. What was it that Amelia had said? That the magic tasted 'spicy'? What did that even mean? The stuff was obviously from Mexico, it said so right on the bottle, so was that it? Mexican witches? But was it bottled in Mexico, too? Spicy could refer to anywhere in the southwest, if magic flavor was like food flavor. Hell, it could mean Lousiana, too. Or a good portion of southeast Asia. "Spicy" was really not a helpful adjective.

Okay, different tack. The victims - ten of them counting Eric, sort of radiating out from Mexico, and probably more that hadn't made the news, like Eric. We hadn't yet confirmed the Equis Rojos connection, but it was taken as read, since we knew for sure that it was the source of Eric's _geas_. What else did they have in common? Four of them were monarchs, and the rest powerful in some other way - I was curious as to the specifics of that, but I knew I wouldn't get anything out of Eric or Pam - probably Sheriffs or equivalent, but the vampire hierarchy was enough of a mystery to me that I wouldn't stake money on it. So they were all powerful, and influential...and old.

The sound of the back door banging open startled me out of my reverie, and I cast out with my mind on reflex, checking for malicious intent from the intruders (not that thieves would make so much noise so soon, but it was a habit leftover from Bourbon Street - if the noise was loud enough to hear over the music, then it was worth checking). All I found was a pair of voids, which I could only assume were the undead proprieters.

"We're set up in here," I called down the hall. Pam and Eric swept into the room not a moment later, and Amelia hopped out of the booth where she'd sat down to wait, tracing symbols in the condensation that dripped from her glass to the table.

Eric and Pam parted a few steps into the room, she to look over the stuff on the floor, and he to invade my personal space behind the bar. I immediately stopped what I was doing, carefully setting down the glass and dishcloth before pointedly removing his hands from my hips and doing a little pirouette to get away from him and his roaming lips.

"Not the time, Eric."

He frowned at me, almost pouting. "Do you even realize what you're implying when you say that? You never follow through and tell me when it _is _the time. Is it any wonder I keep picking my own?"

I sighed very heavily. As usual, he had a valid point, but I really didn't want to deal with it. "Well, maybe when you're acting like yourself we can discuss it. The sooner you get out from behind my bar and into that circle, the sooner I'll consider it, alright?"

Eric nodded, seeming almost mournful, and stepped away from where he'd practically pinned me against the bar. When he was nearly past me, he paused, leaning down to kiss me. He was tall enough that he could do it while maintaining the distance between us, and he kept it quick - just a brief press of his lips against mine and the light flick of his tongue across my lower lip as he pulled away. He smiled at my stunned expression, saying only, "Now you can consider properly," before crossing the room to the chalk circle.

I pulled myself together quickly, talking two very deep breaths before I went to stand beside Amelia.

"Do you need me to do anything?"

She shook her head. "Just stay out of the way. Once I start the incantation, I can't stop to tell you which bundle to burn, so it's easier if I just do the whole thing."

"Okay." She took a couple steps toward the circle, pulling a piece of paper out of her pocket and proceeding to check that everything was in order, her eyes flicking between the sheet and the circle while her lips formed silent words. Her thoughts mimicked her actions, running through everything at lightning speed. If I hadn't already know, the frantic review would have clued me in to her perfectionism, and that layer of throwing everything together last-minute just added an extra note of panic.

I stepped back from Amelia's mind and gave a start when I realized that Pam had appeared next to me, her tiny presence managing to loom despite the fact that her heels still left her a couple inches shorter than me.

"She knows what she is doing, your witchy friend?"

"Yep." I nodded vigorously, trying not to remember the Bob Jessup incident back in college. It had been years since then, and Amelia had a much better handle on her power. Pam glanced skeptically at me, but didn't say anything. Apparently bored with standing in the circle with no one to fawn over him, Eric spoke up.

"Pam, I've been thinking. I'd like to spend some time in Cambodia teaching those people up in the hills to play hnefatafl. It occurs to me that I'm probably the only one who knows how to play it properly anymore. Tawl-Bwrdd just isn't the same."

"Perhaps you could hold off on the trip and teach our employees to play. I'm sure it would do them some good to think every once in a while."

"Perhaps. It's been so long since I've been to southeast Asia, though."

"Yes, and as I recall, there was a very good reason for that." Her head swiveled toward Amelia. "Miss Carmichael?"

"Broadway," she corrected automatically.

"Broadway," Pam agreed pleasantly. "I had assumed that your early arrival would mean we could conduct this ritual immediately. What is the delay?" I had an urge to slap my hand over Pam's mouth, but not only would that be a bad idea employment-wise, it would clue her in to the fact that I was not entirely confident in my friend.

Amelia blinked at her sheet of paper. "No delay."

"So you will begin now?"

She held up a finger. "Just one second...yeah. Eric, are you ready?"

He smiled charmingly, looking past her to meet my eyes. I shivered. "Always."

"Good. Let's do this."

Pam's tone was dry. "Yes, let's."

As I was beginning to realize, most magic wasn't much to look at. It's nothing like in the movies - no wind suddenly kicking up, no glowing hands, no hovering a couple feet above the floor. Mostly it was just Amelia chanting Latin in a voice barely loud enough to hear, with the occasional highlight when she bent down to light one of the herb bundles with the nearest candle. She'd told me once that the words didn't matter as much as the intent but that most witches chose a dead language to work in, and since Latin and Greek were so well-documented they were the go-to choice.

Eric went into downtime while she worked, staring blankly ahead for the fifteen minutes or so it took all the bundles to burn out, leaving the room smokey and aromatic, not necessarily in a good way. I was rubbing my eyes and holding my nose shut to stop up the snot that was threatening to run out of it when she finished, saying the last line of the incantation with a notable finality before stepping forward to scuff out a bit of the circle with her shoe.

Pam was the first to speak. "Is it done, then?"

"Uh, yeah. Should be. Eric, how do you feel?"

He blinked lazily as she addressed him, shifting his gaze from the wall in front of him to first me, then his child. "Fine. It smells of hippie in here."

* * *

><p><em>Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind.<em>


	5. In Which Eric Has Preconceptions

As always, I'd like to thank PMR for giving this a look-see prior to publishing, especially early this week when I was too busy tearing through Karen Chance to even turn on my computer, much less make edits, and therefore compressing the schedule a bit.

* * *

><p>Eric took a big, pointed sniff. "Yes, definitely hippie. Smells just like Woodstock."<p>

I had to ask. "You were at Woodstock? I can't picture it."

He shrugged. "Intoxicated humans are easy to feed from, and my appearance was not as notable." That I could believe - a lot of America would have viewed him as one of the "long-haired, freaky people" for a number of years, which could not have helped in keeping a low profile. He continued.

"The downside to all that easy prey, though, is that we are not entirely immune to hallucinogens, and the cocktails make for some very interesting nights." He turned abruptly to Amelia, who was starting to pack up, perhaps because he'd realized that he was sharing. "Your Latin is horrible. The most pleasing part of that ritual's completion was no longer being subjected to it."

"What does Eric care about correct pronunciation? It's not like his English accent is perfect." I asked Pam in a whisper.

"For a while, he kept up appearances by attending Mass," she responded in kind, her eyes twinkling with amusement as Amelia launched into a rant about the nature of magic. "It kept the inquisitors and such off his back, but it also gave him airs."

"The pronunciation doesn't matter - it's the intent behind the words! I could speak in Pig Latin or Tagalog or Esperanto or freaking _Simlish_ and it wouldn't matter!"

"Be that as it may, your Latin is still awful. And not just the pronunciation."

"Simlish?" Pam was watching the exchange with what passed for glee with her, and I half-expected her to run off to get some popcorn.

"It's an invented language used in a computer game called 'The Sims.' Amelia played a lot in college when she should have been writing papers."

"Ah. I was concerned that the spell had not worked at first, but now it seems to be very effective."

"And furthermore, it still smells of hippie." Amelia was back to cleaning up the remnants of her spellcasting, and Eric was again staring at me and Pam. I gave a small start when I noticed, which I covered by turning on my heel and going to switch on the exhaust fan. Yes, the real Eric was back.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

Once we got him to stop harassing us about the smell, we were able to establish that the spell had worked pretty much exactly as expected. He admitted, after the club was set to rights and Amelia was on her way back to my house with a full, be-stasis-spelled case of Equis Rojos (she'd leave for New Orleans in the morning), that he had a strong desire to play croquet with a grenade, but assured us that he did not intend to indulge himself.

The clientele were thrilled to have him back on the floor, and we did very good business that night, what with all the regulars phoning their friends who had stayed home to tell them Eric was there - the occupancy must have doubled between the first and second hours of being open. In point of fact, I was a little worried that the fire marshal would show up, since as far as I could see people were pressed in like sardines (admittedly, I couldn't see very far, since there were so many bodies in the way). It was all Chow and I could do to keep up with the drink orders. After a night like that, I barely had the energy to make it to my bed, where I passed out, fully-clothed, on top of the covers.

The next night wasn't much better - the hype had worn down, but the crowd was still substantial, so I worked the full eight hours the club was open with no more break than five minutes here or there to run to the toilets. I certainly didn't have time to think about the Equis Rojos problem, much less talk to Eric about it when he came around for his nightly bottle of synthetic. He told me in passing that Pam had put the word out among the vampires to stay the hell away from it, including an addendum that he was drawing on all his resources (which I took to be code for _my_ resources) to find and stop the source of the contamination. No word on what the monarchs - nor anyone else in their bizarro hierarchy - thought, but that wasn't really my business.

I slept late on Monday, then spent the day with Gran. Since it was mid-winter, there wasn't really any gardening to be done, but after I shuttled her to and from her Descendants of the Glorious Dead meeting, we spent the afternoon baking. Mostly we talked about the happenings around Bon Temps, but as I was mixing up the crust for an apple pie, the topic of discussion shifted to me.

"You've been sleeping awfully late these past few days, Sookie."

"Yes, ma'am, I have."

"They working you hard at that bar?"

"Not normally. It's been a busy few days."

"Does that have something to do with why Amelia came up for a visit?"

"Sort of, yes." I could tell she wanted to know more, because it was Gran's way to know all the gossip without spreading any herself, but I was reluctant to get her involved with vampire business. "Could you hand me that flour, Gran? I need to roll out this dough."

"Certainly, dear. Here you are."

"Thanks." I thought I'd get away with it, but Gran's curiosity could not be contained.

"Did Eric have some business problem that Amelia could fix?" Amelia had gotten a business degree to please her father. She'd also gotten an art degree to annoy him.

"Er, in a manner of speaking. She provided a patch solution to a problem we had, and as a result it's been really busy the past few nights. We're hoping it will go back to normal tomorrow."

"You're working tomorrow?"

"Just until ten." Long Shadow and I split Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, since they were low-traffic. Well, I guess Chow and I now, since Long Shadow had disappeared and was showing no signs of coming back. Sometimes we'd take a whole night solo, but most often we split the night right down the middle, which I appreciated so I could catch up on sleep.

"Oh, well that's good."

"Yeah. It'll give me a chance to talk with Eric after work without being totally exhausted."

"About what?"

Crap. "Oh, nothing much. I just had an idea about the problem we were having a couple days ago, but we've been too busy to talk, that's all."

"If you say so, dear, but don't feel you have to rush home." She was patting my hand where it had frozen mid-stroke on the rolling pin a hopeful smile firmly affixed to her face.

I loved Gran, I did, but she was more acutely aware of my continued singledom than I was. I had a very good reason not to date - no woman wants to hear about how her tits are great, but she could stand to lose a little weight around the hips when she's going to town on a hamburger. I'd tried a bit in high school and college, but it hadn't gone well, so I'd given up.

Gran had not.

It's not that she had great-grandbaby fever, she just knew that I wasn't close with Jason, nor did I have many friends, and with Grandpa Fintan only present on occasion, she just didn't want me to be lonely after she was gone. That was all well and good, but ever since I'd come home from my second night of work and mentioned to her that my new boss was gorgeous (in between telling her about how receptive he'd been to my idea for the house cocktail), she'd been practically tripping over herself in an effort to convince me that I should give him a try.

Fortunately, Gran wasn't one to beat a dead horse, so when I went long enough without answering, she gave up and went back to telling me about the town's goings-on.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I was pulling on my coat the next night, about to step out the door, when my phone rang. I flipped it open, not bothering to check the caller ID.

"Hello?" I felt a little guilty, not identifying myself immediately like I would if it had been the house phone, but I was very cautious with my cell phone number - if the person on the other end didn't know for sure that it was me, I didn't want to give it away, just in case. Call me paranoid, but the kind of tracking you could do with cell phones made me nervous, especially with what had happened in New Orleans.

"Sookie, do you know why I just signed for two dozen cases of Equis Rojos?"

I thought for a beat. "No, I don't think Eric has mentioned anything like that. I can ask him about it when I get in to work."

"Could you? I mean, I'm sure I'm supposed to test them, but I'd like to know where they came from, y'know?"

"Yeah, Ames, I know. I'll find out, but I should really get on the road."

"Mmhm. But wait a minute. I've been trying to trace the bottles you gave me before, but I'm just not getting anywhere. Do you think your boss would mind if I asked my mentor for help?"

"I can't see why he would, considering how badly he wants this to go away. I'll ask him that, too."

"Uh...yeah, you do that. I really, really hope he's fine with it, though."

My free hand went to my brow, massaging my temple. "You already got her involved, didn't you?"

"Kind of. More than kind of, actually."

"How involved, exactly?" It wasn't that I didn't trust Octavia, who was a lovely woman and so far as I could tell a hell of a witch to boot, but I knew Eric wanted to keep this quiet and might not like having another person know.

"Very. She's actually the one who said the magic tasted spicy in the beginning." Amelia sounded awfully sheepish. "She's got a better read on it now, though, and is pretty sure it tastes like Mexico, specifically."

"I figured that's how it would turn out. Anything else?"

"We're pretty sure the hex is being added before bottling, some time while they're mixing it up. Oh, and only three of the new cases have hexed bottles."

"That's something. Now, I really have to get gone. I'll call you later."

"Okay. Bye, Sook."

"Bye."

Fortunately for everyone involved, a weekend of Eric back meant that the Tuesday crowd was completely normal for a Tuesday, which is to say rather thin and mostly tourists. As usual, we made a killing on the red drinks, which I spent the night tossing behind my back and bouncing off my arms. Chow, when he arrived, gave me the blank look that I suspected was his version of an eye-roll and went to serve the next customer while I finished pouring a string of six shots for a bachelorette party. As soon after as I could, I ducked out from behind the bar and went to find Eric in his office.

I was pretty sure he'd already had his meal, but since I occasionally got glimpses of what he got up to with said meals, I did a quick sweep before I opened the door. He was alone in the office, typing furiously in both senses of the word - I couldn't exactly _see_ what his fingers were doing, but I could hear the angry pounding as they zipped across the keyboard. I frowned, staying partly behind the door as I knocked on the frame to get his attention. Call it force of habit, since I knew he'd heard me step in, but with him so obviously involved in something it seemed only polite.

"Eric?"

He didn't look up. "Yes, Sookie?"

"I have news and a few questions from Amelia." He sort of glanced at me, which I took as indication that I should continue and stepped fully into the room. "Well, first of all, she called because she'd just taken receipt of a couple dozen cases of Equis Rojos and wanted to know why."

"I was able to determine that there are six possible manufacturing sites, all in Mexico, and that it is possible to trace a case back to its point of origin based on a code on the packaging. All of Fangtasia's cases came from the same site, so I contacted bar owners in other areas, as well as in Texas, Mississippi, and Arkansas, to get a better sampling."

"Ah. Amelia said she tested them, and only three cases had hexed bottles."

"Fine. What else?" He was still banging at the keyboard.

"Are you...angry about something?" He didn't sound it, but with vampires it was hard to tell. "You're being awfully rough with that keyboard."

"I do not like computers," he said, as if that explained everything. In his mind, it probably did. I sighed and went back to the original conversation.

"Given what you've found out yourself, this is a little redundant, but Ames and her mentor have determined that the hexes are most likely Mexican in origin, and are probably added sometime before bottling."

"Her mentor?" I'd known he would catch that, even if I'd wanted him to overlook it.

"Octavia Fant. She's a very powerful witch in New Orleans, very well-respected, and very discreet."

"I have heard of her. The reason for her involvement?" His multi-tasking skills were impressive - aside from the one, brief, glance, he hadn't looked away from whatever he was doing since I'd come in.

"Amelia is..." I trailed off, trying to think of a way to explain it in terms that wouldn't make her sound unreliable. "She can be more talent and enthusiasm than skill, so she was having a hard time getting a trace on the magic. She asked Octavia to help because she is aware of her own limitations."

"Fine. How much has she been told?"

I frowned, my face scrunching up. "I don't know. If I had to guess, everything Amelia knows. I trust her, and that had better be enough for you."

For some truly indiscernible reason, that got his attention. Or perhaps it was that he'd finished whatever it was he had been doing. Whatever the reason, at that last, challenging statement, he turned in his chair to give me his undivided attention. There was an uncomfortable moment when he licked his lip, flashing a hint of fang, and I blushed to remember the feel of that tongue on my own lip.

"Yes, considering your ability, it is enough. Was there anything else?"

I refrained from correcting his assumption that being a telepath meant I would know if someone harbored ill intentions, from telling him that I'd been wrong before and I'd be wrong again. It wouldn't help the situation in any way. Instead, I merely replied to his question. "From Amelia, no."

He smiled infinitesimally. The glimmer in his eyes was infectious, pushing away my slight irritation. "From you?"

I smiled back, feeling a little bit cheeky. "I had a thought about the _geas_ itself. We'd sold several bottles before you had one, but you're the only person affected around here. To the best of my knowledge, at least." He nodded, so I continued. "The others, the monarchs and such, how old are they? Not specifically, but ballpark?"

"Very." I narrowed my eyes. "At least eight hundred, some older than me." He blinked, seeing where I was going with the question. "You think the _geas_ is designed to cleave only to ancient vampires."

"I suspect. I don't know the particulars of your power structure, but I'd got the impression that age was involved, and it seems to me that a lot of the high-profile vampires might be old. I mean, that's kind of how it works with us humans, too - more experience tends to get you more power. So, if you were trying to discredit vampires by making them look like fools, wouldn't you go after the ones in the public eye? And, if you didn't know much about how vampires organize themselves, wouldn't you guess that famous ones might be older?"

"Perhaps. It is an angle that had occurred to us, yes, but not from that direction."

"Well, now it has, so to speak. That's all I had, so I'm going to go home now, unless you need me for anything else." His only response was a truly lascivious look, so I rolled my eyes and turned away. My hand was on the knob when he deigned to use his words.

"Ask your witchy friend for the individual codes for the three cases with hexed bottles and send them to me."

So he could hunt down which manufacturing sites they came from. I turned my head slightly, even though he'd hear me perfectly well if I spoke into the door. "Why? You don't like computers, which such a search would no doubt require, and they're getting somewhere in New Orleans. Wouldn't it be more efficient to let them do their job so you can do your normal Sheriff things?"

"Perhaps." The shrug was evident in his voice. "But I don't make a habit of trusting witches."

"Then why...never mind. I don't want to know. I'll see what I can do about those codes." I wasn't too thrilled about enabling him to go haring off after some unknown magic-users, but all the cases we had at Fangtasia were hexed, so withholding the information would only slow him down so much. I opened the door and stepped through, pulling it shut behind me before he could say anything else. I didn't want to hear any reason he gave for going against habit, especially since I was pretty sure I knew it without being told. Being that high in a vampire's regard - any vampire, much less one roughly 40 times my age - was an uncomfortable thing.

I was halfway across the parking lot when my phone rang, the tone I'd programmed specifically for Amelia, so I dug it out and immediately flipped it open.

"Hey. Eric needs these codes off the cases," I started, while Amelia said something else. "Sorry, you go first," I continued. "Say again?"

"We found them."

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><p><em>Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind.<em>


	6. In Which A Skirmish Occurs

Sorry about the extra-long wait, folks. Apparently when I wrote this weeks and weeks ago, I went a little bit out of my head, and as a result had to pretty much re-write. PMR and I have been working out edits intermittently for the past two weeks, and what's come out is, we both agree, an immense improvement on the original madness. As a bonus, this one's the lengthiest chapter yet, so I suppose you could consider it a fair exchange or something.

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><p>The plan came together blindingly fast. Less than a week after Amelia and Octavia positively identified the hex's point of origin as a manufacturing plant in Tecate, we were flying to San Diego, which was itself little more than a secondary staging ground before we smuggled ourselves across the border into Mexico. No one had specifically said why we got permission to essentially invade other vampires' territories, but since Eric had mentioned that four of the news-worthy vampires were monarchs, I suspected that either Cesar Medina or Elizabeth Verracruz was one of them; they were the two nearest to the factory and everything was moving too fast for the local authorities not to have a personal interest. Even so, I'm sure it had taken a lot of smooth talking, and probably some significant leverage, to convince them that we were more suited to the task than whoever they had locally. I'd told Gran that my bosses were sending me to a bar convention in Tunica on their behalf, then driven down to the primary staging ground in New Orleans, where I was meeting the rest of the "strike force."<p>

Of course, even if we did have permission to enter the area and conduct our business, we weren't allowed to bring what Eric considered a full complement, though there was talk of limited ground support from local vampires on both sides of the border. What we got was four people - Eric, me, Amelia, and a Were named Alcide that I'd seen around Fangtasia once or twice. I was hoping that the animosity I'd observed between the two-natured and vampires wouldn't interfere with the success of the operation, since there was very little wiggle room built into the plan, and there simply was not time for me to play mediator when we needed to be in and out again in only a few hours.

The original plan had been to take a squad of vampires, and thus had not included me, Amelia, or Alcide. When I'd asked him if it was really smart to max out how jumpy the locals could be by bringing four people they would consider a threat, especially since the plan was to subdue and disperse a bunch of humans, he'd looked thoughtful. Thoughtful had quickly turned into calculating, and before I knew it I was being told that I was coming to Mexico, and did I have any further recommendations? Since I'd been on break when I'd asked about the plan and was feeling blindsided by his declaration, I told him I'd think about it and left the office.

Later, I told him he'd want a shapeshifter with fighting skills to back him up in case the _brujos_ got violent, so that way at least they wouldn't have the same weaknesses, and a witch because to omit one when dealing with witches seemed a bit like bringing a mallet to a gun fight - even if I was hoping this didn't turn into a fight. Since Eric didn't make a habit of trusting witches and thus didn't really have one on call, I nominated Amelia (and then really, really hoped it wouldn't turn into a fight, because she'd be useless). Eric had selected Alcide, about whom I knew very little, but was assured as to his competence. Mostly I was glad to have someone strong around in case we got caught by the dawn. So it was that the four of us met on an airfield in Metairie, ready to load onto a nondescript shipping flight to San Diego.

Amelia and I arrived together, pulling up just behind a truck with Mississippi plates, out of which emerged the other living member of our party. As we climbed out of our cars, two people materialized out of the shadows. Well, Eric materialized; Bobby sort of shuffled into view with a sour look on his face, like he'd stepped in something foul, and maybe he had, the way he was dragging his feet. I didn't pay too much attention to him, though, because Eric had chosen tonight to let some of the _geas_-crazy through.

If Pam had been here, no doubt she would have put Amelia's and my black-turtleneck-and-jeans approximation of nighttime stealth gear to shame with some immaculate, private-army chic. Considering the range I'd seen in her wardrobe over the past few months, something like that would not have surprised me at all. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised if Eric had gone that route instead of his usual combination of tshirt, jeans, and flip-flops. But no, he was dressed to the nines in a tuxedo. I couldn't even begin to think of something to say.

The shapeshifter portion of our party was dressed the most innocuously in worn jeans and t-shirts, presumably because he weren't planning on his clothes surviving the night. Alcide, who was handsome in a rugged, untamed-hair sort of way, handed me a small backpack when I arrived.

"What's this?"

He smiled slightly. "For the trip back. Security won't let a wolf into the airport."

I nodded, not sure if the bag contained a change of clothes or props to disguise him as a service dog, and swung it over my shoulder. I'd have to work out exactly what to do with it later - it probably wouldn't inhibit my ability to fire my shotgun, but maybe I'd give it to Amelia just in case.

Speaking of which, Bobby stepped away from where he'd been conferring with Eric with an unmistakably-shaped nylon case in his hand. I raised an eyebrow at it.

"This it?"

He sniffed dismissively, ignoring my question in favor of thrusting it at me so fast that I nearly dropped it. I frowned at his back as he stalked back the way he'd come, past Eric.

The shotgun was new - I was concerned that with Eric obviously vulnerable to this group's magic, one shapeshifter might not be enough if something went wrong, so I'd volunteered to bring along my brother's Benelli, but Eric had insisted on getting me a clean weapon and ordered me to give him a wish list. With _carte __blanche_ like that, I'd done some research and asked for a pump-action riot gun like the police use, fitted with the biggest magazine available. On the basis that the group of _brujos _we were after were probably human and likely hired guns (so to speak) with no actual stake in the operation, I was packing beanbag rounds.

Eric gave the three of us a once-over before speaking, briefly. "The pilot is nearly finished with the pre-flight checks. We will board now." There was a chorus of nods and grunts of assent, and we started across the tarmac.

As we climbed onto the plane, I breathed a sigh of relief that we were flying freight, because there was no way I would have been able to get this kind of armament through a TSA screening. Most of the hold was taken up with standard stuff - skids full of packages and a few strapped-down items of unusual shape - but there was an area cleared in the middle just wide enough to open up bench seats with space for about three people on either side of the plane. Eric and Alcide sat on one side, a space between them, with Amelia and I opposite them.

Unlike the outwardly-calm men across the hold, Amelia was fidgeting and trying to find a comfortable way to sit on a steel bench for three and a half hours. I tried to ignore her, opting to close my eyes and try to relax. After a few minutes of taxiing, she stopped moving around, only to poke me a couple of seconds later. I refused to open my eyes.

"Yes?"

"What did you say the Were-guy's name was?"

"Alcide Herveaux."

"Oh. He's pretty cute."

I had to agree with her there, though I wouldn't admit it with Eric around to hear - for all I knew, he'd take it as a challenge and spend the entire flight trying to talk me into sleeping with him. For that matter, if Eric could hear over the engine noise, Alcide probably could, too. "So? We're here for business, not pleasure."

She made a noise that I knew all too well, the one that meant she thought I was ruining her fun. "The two are not mutually exclusive, and anyway we could meet up with him sometime after this is done. He probably has cute friends, too."

I frowned some more, finally opening my eyes, just to see if we were drawing any attention. The two across the way were studiously ignoring each other. Things were not looking good for cooperation. "We?"

"Well, yeah. I think he likes you."

"He may, but I think he's taken." Or at least he'd seemed that way last I'd seen him, what with that skinny woman with the weird haircut draping herself all over him.

"His loss."

"Sure," I sighed. "Just drop it for now. If you're still awake when we touch back down, feel free to ask for his number."

"Maybe I will," she said, petulantly. I rolled my eyes.

It soon became clear to me that familiarizing myself with my new weapon was not going to fill the three and a half hours we spent on the plane, not by a long shot. I thought about napping, since I was definitely going to be missing my bed time, but I was too wired to sleep, and anyway I wasn't sure how I generally felt about sleeping in the company of a couple of tense predators itching for a fight, much less such an enclosed space, even if they were ostensibly my friends. Instead, I spent my time rehashing everything I knew about the _geas_ and vampire politics, trying to make the facts line up. I got nowhere, unable to shake the feeling that I was missing key pieces to the puzzle.

About two hours in, Eric stirred rather suddenly and pulled a large schematic map out of an inside pocket, which he spread across the space between the two benches where we could all (sort-of) see and started explaining the latest details of the plan, occasionally pointing to things as necessary.

"We will be met as the airfield by representatives of the San Diego vampires, who will have a shipping truck waiting for us. They will load us and several of these items," he gestured at the towers of plastic-wrapped boxes surrounding us, "immediately, and we will be driven to the border. The conditions of the cooperative pact require that we remain within the container except to enter the factory and at the airfield. No doubt they will be watching us closely." That made sense, actually. No vampire was going to allow a dangerous party, even a small one like ours, into his territory unless steps were taken to ensure that they didn't get up to any funny business.

Alcide, however, was seeing a problem with this plan. "So, we're going to get inside a truck that we've never seen before, ride in it for God knows how long, and sit on our thumbs hoping that we'll end up where we're supposed to be? What the hell kind of plan is that?"

Eric refrained from responding, blinking slowly at the map while he waited for the objections to wind down.

"I'm just saying this is a raw deal, and I don't trust these local vamps not to screw us." His body language and the hints of thought I was reading off his mind suggested he didn't trust any of us, either, but he'd suffer through it. It made me wonder why he'd agreed to come. I sighed.

"That's a healthy attitude, Alcide, but the fact is that we're doing this on sufferance. We may not trust the locals, but we have to trust that they want this to go away enough to leave us alone."

"Exactly, Sookie." Eric smiled at me like I was a particularly smart puppy who'd learned a new trick. I suppressed the urge to make a face. "Now, if I may continue?" Alcide rolled his eyes, but settled back against the bulkhead.

"As you can see, there are three possible rooms in which these witches could be working," he said, pointing them out on the schematic. "The incubator, the flavoring room, and the bottling line. Sookie, this will be where you are most valuable. We should be able to follow their scent to the right room, but we will need you to give us an idea of what they're doing, as well as a firm count."

"Excuse me?" Amelia was raising her hand tentatively. "What if they're not in the factory? I mean, it's always been a possibility, and I thought that was part of the reason why I'm being brought along. Will our handlers allow us to go looking elsewhere?"

"There have been eyes on the site since it was identified as the point of origin. They have been there every night so far." That wasn't really an answer, but I suppose that possibility was something that hadn't been resolved in negotiations.

"Oh."

"However, since you are here, you can keep them from noticing that we are in the building. Some sort of 'stay-away' spell that masks our presence should be sufficient."

"Uh...okay."

Eric ignored her. "Our goals once we enter are twofold: secure the coven -"

"By which you mean 'secure,' not 'kill,' right, Eric?" I interrupted. "Because as you know, I won't be a part of killing people."

"Yes, I recall our arrangement." He smiled toothily and produced a ziptie out of the suit pocket opposite where the map had been, flourishing it at me. "I'm saddened to think that you doubted me. They will be secured."

I smiled back at him, matching him barb for barb. "I had no doubt you remembered. I did, however, doubt that you would consider this situation fully under the original terms."

He nodded curtly, acknowledging in this mental fencing match, at least, we were even. "May I?" He gestured at the map.

"Of course." I suspected he enjoyed this sort of game we played.

"Excellent. Only after the witches are under control will Ms. Broadway do what she must to have the _geas_ removed. Prior to that, however, she and Sookie will do their very best to stay out of the way and out of trouble."

The corner of my mouth quirked up, and I laid a hand on the nylon case resting against my leg, almost daring him to suggest that I went looking for trouble. He waved his eyebrows at me. Oh, yeah, he liked this little, teasing exchange.

We waited for Eric to continue, but apparently he'd said all he intended to, because he fell into downtime without a word, leaving Alcide to deal with the schematic spread in front of them. When it became clear that no one was going to say anything else, I settled back and closed my eyes again, relaxing as much as I could, under the circumstances.

It was full dark when we touched down, but we'd planned for that by leaving long enough after dark that we wouldn't risk crossing the terminator in-flight. The entire assault, so to speak, was to take place under the cover of darkness, and if we didn't take too long getting back to San Diego, we'd be back in New Orleans before dawn. We had four or five hours to do our thing if we wanted time for them to go to ground once we touched down again, but so long as we were in the air before dawn in California, we'd be fine. The truck was waiting for us, pulling right up to the plane as soon as the hold doors opened. The driver was human, but under the golden sodium light I could make out the scars of old bite wounds on his neck. His thoughts were in Spanish, but there was a woman's name floating around, so I assumed he was more than just a simple fangbanger.

They loaded us in with the skids, leaving a path down the middle with a couple gaps on either side where we could sit. Once the doors closed, it was pitch black, and without seatbelts or the kind of shock absorption I was used to having in a moving vehicle, it was a very uncomfortable, jouncing ride over what I assumed were rough roads. By the time we got to the border, I ached so much that I couldn't bring myself to be tense, though considering I was about to sneak into a foreign country and break into a factory, I should have been. The morality of the situation bothered me, and any peace I'd made with it sounded like a substantially less-severe version of the standard 'just following orders' justification for committing atrocities. On the plus side, Eric _might_ not blame me for claiming coercion if we got caught.

My heart evidently hadn't gotten the memo re: tension, however, because as soon as we came to a stop it started pounding fit to break my ribs. I was sure Eric and Alcide could hear it, and suspected Amelia and anyone outside the trailer could, too. I was otherwise silent, though, unlike Amelia, who squeaked a little when the door was pulled open. Fortunately, the noise was covered by the squealing of the hinges, but I pressed my hand to her mouth to stifle any further outbursts. I couldn't really see whoever it was, but I could hear his thoughts as he started to haul himself up and inside, so I knew he was human.

He stopped before he got all the way up, though, and I plucked an image of a vampire bearing an uncanny resemblance to a young Benicio Del Toro out of his head. Everything was in Spanish, as I should have expected it to be, but I caught a word here or there, and definitely the sense that whoever this guy was, the border control officer found him very intimidating. There was the sound of someone climbing into the truck, and then the doors closed, and I realized that the vampire had joined us. We got underway again, and I waited for him to say anything, but he parked himself near the door and kept his mouth shut. No doubt this is what Eric had meant by 'watching closely.'

As the truck slowed to its final stop sometime later, the sounds of stirring supes started to fill the truck. I tracked the driver as he came around the trailer and opened the door. The silent vampire hopped out immediately and disappeared around the door. Eric and Alcide zipped past a beat or two later, leaving Amelia and I to stretch a modicum of feeling back into our limbs before joining them out in the Mexican night.

The handsome one, whom I'd mentally dubbed Dario (after Benicio's character in License to Kill), was in the security booth, apparently doing the same sort of badge-waving act that he'd done at the border, minus an actual badge. It made me wonder if all the news out of Mexico about cartels running everything was a smokescreen, or if the cartels were just under vampiric control. Whatever he said, it was working, because the security guy was nodding in frantic agreement and pushing buttons, presumably to shut off the security system.

My shotgun had come with a nifty shoulder strap, like the "Whippit" guns Bonnie and Clyde had used back in the 30s, and I took advantage of the short wait while we waited for the go-ahead to get it situated against my shoulder. Alcide also took advantage, stripping off as soon as he realized we were on hold and falling forward onto his knees. I'd never actually seen a two-natured shift before, and I had to admit that even with the contortions and bones moving around under his skin, there was a certain beauty to it. Amelia seemed to be just as intrigued, with her head tilted ever so slightly to one side as she watched.

As soon as he was done, he sneezed, and I jumped. It was funny, really - this huge wolf, far larger than anything from nature, sneezing like he'd got dust in his nose. For all I knew, maybe he had. It didn't really matter though, because no sooner had that tiny moment passed than Dario was nodding toward the factory, telling us without words to get a move on.

Amelia grimaced as we started forward, but started chanting under her breath well before we made it to the door, and by the time we were there, my skin was crawling with something halfway between static buildup and an itch. If this is what it felt inside the keep-away spell, it had to be darn unpleasant outside it. Eric pushed the door open, and I reflexively glanced back - Dario was leaning against the truck's grille, staring intently at us, in particular at me. I shivered and turned back to the business at hand. As we stepped through, Alcide put his nose to the ground, like nothing so much as a massive bloodhound, then looked up again and started snuffling through the air to the nearest wall. A few sniffs there, then he whined, even as he stared Eric down.

"What?" Amelia was busy, so on behalf of those of us who couldn't smell very well, I had to ask.

"I do not speak wolf." He must have felt me glaring at his back, because he continued. "However, I believe he is telling us that he can't catch a scent."

"Why not?"

"The ambient smells are too overpowering." It was true that the air had a slight tangy flavor, and I supposed if I could taste it, Alcide couldn't smell much of anything else.

"So now what? Is there a backup plan?"

"Of course." He smiled charmingly, which was a devastating effect in that tux.

I groaned. "I'm the backup plan, aren't I?" His smile might have grown broader. "Great." I paused to get my bearings, then took a step forward. "Come on, then."

There were a few more guards roaming the halls, but with me listening so hard, we had more than enough time to duck out of sight before any of them saw us. I pulled us to a last halt right before we rounded the corner to what I was pretty sure was the flavoring room, holding up a hand while I counted brains. Eric was perfectly calm while he waited, the very image of a man on a brief break from the opera, but Amelia was a ball of nerves, tripping over her words as she reflexively knotted her hand in Alcide's fur and held him at her hip. I was too busy counting to get a read on him, which would have been near-impossible anyway with him in wolf form, but I suspected he was only putting up with it because the alternative would be even less productive. I was with him - I'd vouched for her, but if I'd known she was going to be like this, I probably would have looked for an alternative.

I shook off those thoughts and went back to counting, my head tilting subconsciously, mimicking the motion of actually listening. "Yeah, that's what I thought," I muttered. "Thirteen _brujos_, standing in a circle on the far right of the room, with three Weres standing guard. Did the guys who've been watching this place say anything about Weres?"

Eric frowned. "No."

"So why are they here? They're obviously expecting trouble. Were the watchers spotted?"

"Perhaps," he said, a shrug in his voice.

There was no movement as he considered this turn of events, and I could see the wheels turning as he decided there'd be a fight. I frowned deeply - this was exactly what I'd hoped wouldn't happen. When he was finished, he twitched, managing to look incredibly impressive and interesting as he did it, and gestured Alcide forward. Amelia and I hung back, waiting until we heard the sounds of fighting before starting forward, slipping quickly through the big double doors and ducking off to the side. I had both hands on the shotgun, holding it ready while I scanned the room, and she had a hand on the little backpack I was holding for Alcide, trailing behind me as I went for a line of barrels against the wall across the room. If we hugged the wall, we should be able to get there without incident, but I kept an eye on things anyway, knowing the habit of plans to go awry as soon as they were put into action.

The other two members of our party were otherwise engaged with the trio of Were guards, moving so fast that they were little more than a blur of fur and pale, pale skin. I couldn't say for sure, but from the tiny glimpses I got when they slowed down enough to be distinct shapes, we seemed to be winning. The thirteen humans were obliviously set up in a ring around the third vat of four, which looked like nothing so much as squat spiders with all the hoses coming and going, chanting in voices too low to make out any words, even if I could understand whatever language it was. The chanting stopped abruptly, though, when Eric casually tossed the already-reverting corpse of one of the other Weres in their direction.

At least three of them had gone down under the mass of scraggly red fur and bloody flesh, but the other ten came out of the chant in a rage, pulling wicked-looking knives from pockets and cloaks. Amelia sucked in a sharp breath from behind my shoulder. Somewhere in there she'd stopping chanting without me noticing.

"What?"

"Those are probably athames. Or possibly bolines. I can't see the handles..."

"They're knives! What does it matter what handles they have?"

"Silver knives!" Her voice was squeaky with panic.

My head jerked around to look at her. "Are you sure?"

"Well, no, they're not always silver, but I'm pretty sure they will be, given the situation."

I blew out a breath, harsh and frustrated. "Great." I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye just as Amelia yelped my name, pointing. I swiveled back to the room at large, barely in time to pull the trigger and catch the man running at me in the gut with a beanbag round. He collapsed to the floor with an audible "Oof!" and I pumped another round into the chamber, watching to see if he'd get up. I didn't expect it, since I'd hit him in the stomach at pretty close range, but I had to be sure. When he didn't move except to wheeze raggedly, I edged back toward the barrels, glancing around for Amelia, since she was obviously no longer attached to the backpack.

Her comment about the knives swam briefly across my mind, but I dismissed it. One, surely Eric and Alcide had heard her shrieking, and two, they couldn't very well avoid the knives any more than they already were, even if they were at risk of silver poisoning from a few flesh wounds, which I doubted. Not that they were likely to suffer too many such wounds, with most of their attackers sprawled on the floor around Eric and Alcide chasing the rest around the room, herding them back to Eric. Clearly, in the few seconds I'd spent dealing with the one who'd come after me and Amelia, the rest of them had lost their nerve. It was about then, when I was scanning for the one witch who was on our side, that I noticed the air.

It had gone thick and heavy, like the air just before a rainstorm, when the humidity's been building for days and walking feels like swimming through molasses, but it didn't have the same sticky quality. It was more charged than that, but instead of ozone, it smelled like a fog machine, but without the fog. It was really weird.

"Amelia?"

"Over here." She was whisper-shouting, her voice strangled with fear. She'd made it to the barrels, and I did another quick sweep before jogging over to her.

"Can you feel that?"

"The air?"

"Yeah...what can you do about it?"

"I'm, uh, not sure. I can try -" I cut her off.

"If it won't make us or anything caustic explode, do it. I don't want to be around when that discharges."

"Right. Me either. You'll cover me?"

"Sure thing. Just...make it go away." I waved my hand dismissively as I went back to watching the room with the barrels at my back.

It looked like the Were that Eric had thrown had been left roughly where he landed, but the other two were heaped off to the side with their necks bent at funny angles. I felt a little sick about that, actually, but there was nothing to do about it now, and anyway it wasn't realistic of me to expect that a vampire would be entirely able to refrain from killing people in a fight. With the limp - please not dead - bodies of the coven sort of piled up, it was hard to tell if they were all subdued, but it looked like they were all there, and Eric was starting to ziptie their hands and stuff scraps of their own clothing into their mouths to keep them quiet. Alcide was prowling around them, looking vaguely menacing, and overall it looked like we had this well in hand, which of course made it the perfect moment for that stifling cloud of magic to get its act together.

One second I was watching Eric clean up, the next I was blinking back tears and shaking my head to clear the buzzing from the smoky magical flash-bang that had just gone off. I wasn't sure if being deaf and two-ways blind was any better, tactically, than being covered in chemical burns or a splattering of so much meat, but at least there weren't any more hostile Mexican witches wandering around looking to cause me grievous bodily harm. My arm was tired, so I let it and the shotgun swing down to rest across my body while rubbed at my eyes with the other hand, trying to clear them. I was just twisting to see if Amelia was doing anything to help when I felt a mind rushing toward me, its thoughts snarly and angry.

My eyes shot open, my vision blurry with tears, just in time to see the man I'd shot throwing himself toward me, but too late to do anything about it. There was a sickening sound as whatever he was carrying deflected off the shotgun's shortened barrel and crashed into my chest, carving through the flesh with a weirdly squishy crunch. My left arm spasmed against the gun, and before I even realized what I was doing, I was bringing it round to broadside him, the motion very slightly hindered by the immobility of the butt, which was still attached to my shoulder by the strap. Only when he'd fallen over did I look down to see the damage, letting loose a rare burst of cursing when I identified what he'd been holding.

"You have got to be fucking shitting me!"

He'd staked me.

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><p><em>Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind.<em>


	7. In Which Medical Treatment Is Scarce

The customary acknowledgments are due to PMR, who was kind enough to laugh at the bad, stream-of-consciousness jokes my sleep-deprived brain decided to make in the margins yesterday, in between cutting out huge...tracts of unnecessary dialogue.

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><p>It hurt, I think, being staked. I mean, I'm sure it did, but I didn't register it, because I was full of adrenaline and trying not to notice my probably-fatal wound any more than necessary. I wavered for a few beats then crumpled forward, barely having the presence of mind to catch myself before I fell on the stake and made everything worse. I wasn't really sure what the damage was, since I was refusing to look at it too closely, but judging from where it was sticking out and the wheeze I was hearing in my panting breaths, I was pretty confident in assessing a punctured lung. Also, it was on the wrong side of my chest to hit the heart, so that was a small blessing.<p>

In between trying to breathe and figure out how much of a bad way I was in by inference, I noted wryly that in any other circumstance, this would have brought Eric running, but since there was already enough blood in the room for me to taste it in the air, he wasn't paying me any mind. I tried to laugh, but with the hole in my chest, all I got was a rattling wheeze. After a few minutes of just kneeling there, dazedly trying to figure out why my shotgun was on the floor while my arms grew weak with a combination of strain and blood loss, I had to wonder why no one had found me yet. Amelia was probably still hiding behind the barrels and doing something witchy, so I didn't expect her help, but I was surprised the other two hadn't come out the fog yet.

Thinking to speed things along a little, whether it be in terms of me dying by blood-crazed vampire or getting some much-needed medical attention, I forced what little air I had to vocalize a name. I didn't try to yell, exactly, but I put as much volume into it as I could.

"Eric!" I was hoarse, I had no idea if he'd even notice I was calling, and I couldn't trust my breathing enough to make a second attempt. Luckily, just as I was starting to notice black spots around the edges of my vision, I felt myself being pulled back to lean against a cool, solid body.

"I told you to stay out of trouble, Sookie."

I rolled my eyes. "As reassuring statements go, Eric, that was awful." The words came quietly in fits and starts, with frantic panting in between.

"But it is truth."

"Are you going to say something helpful, or just scold me until I pass out from blood loss?"

"And what would be helpful?" He sounded genuinely curious.

"A hospital, perhaps."

"That would draw attention we don't want."

"So you're just going to let me die, then?" Should've listened to Grandpa Fintan when he said to stay away from vampires.

"No."

"Then what?"

"I will give you my blood."

"You'll _what_?"

"Give you my blood. Did you damage your hearing?"

"No. No, absolutely not." I didn't want to be a vampire, and I couldn't believe Eric thought that was a valid option.

"It was not a question."

By this point, the smoke had cleared and I could see the rest of the room. Alcide had shifted back and was dragging the now-conscious _brujos_ into a group, ignoring their glares. Some of them were thrashing around like fish on a line, trying to get away, but Eric had evidently tied their ankles, too, so they weren't getting anywhere. I could hear Amelia stumbling through what sounded like second-semester Spanish somewhere beyond my rapidly-darkening periphery, but not if she was getting any response. I wasn't paying too close attention, since Alcide kept appearing out of nowhere and startling me with his nakedness, and all the jumping made the hole in my chest hurt worse. Eric gave me a small shake, and I yelped because it jostled the stake.

"Unless you want me to bleed out on the floor, please don't do that."

"You will not bleed out on the floor."

"Oh, so I'll bleed out somewhere else. That's a great comfort, Eric, thanks."

He huffed, like some kind of annoyed lion. "You are being difficult."

I took the deepest breath I could, trying to calm the rage that was building toward the guy who'd gotten me into this mess, he who held information more precious than the blood that allowed his continued existence, because I was acutely conscious of needing to keep my heart rate down. "Please explain, then."

"You are aware of the illicit market for vampire blood?" I grunted, since I was feeling too light-headed to trust nodding wouldn't lead to passing out. "Its value as a street drug is based on its regenerative properties - healing of the broken becomes euphoria in the healthy."

"So drinking your blood will fix me."

"Yes."

"Drinking vampire blood also makes baby vampires."

Eric sighed, exasperated. I tried to smile and got a grimace instead. The gaping wound was moving past occasional twinges and into constant agony, and as the pain grew all the thoughts got louder, pressing sharply in on my mind in what felt like a feedback look of the external pain - the _brujo_ that Amelia was trying to interrogate was also a loud broadcaster.

I took another deep-ish breath and did my best to focus on thinking for a moment. Did I really want to die because I refused effective medical treatment, even if it was unconventional? When it came down to it, no. I wouldn't be surprised if I died young, given what I'd seen of the supe world, but I wouldn't let it be because of pride.

"Alright."

"You will take the blood?"

"Yes. I trust that you won't kill me before you get in my pants."

"You are also a very good bartender."

"Thank you."

"Now shut up while I fix you."

I frowned, or rather frowned harder, since the adrenaline had faded and I was now in quite a lot of pain. "Eric, what about the air?"

"Air?"

"There's a hole in my lung. Air's getting into my chest cavity, where it shouldn't be. Will your blood get it out?" I couldn't help but remember Jason's first year of football camp, when the August heat had dried out the dirt so much that it was as hard as pavement, but the coaches persisted in practicing tackles. My brother had gone down, and the force of the impact had ruptured his lung; when they'd got him to the hospital, they'd had to cut him open and connect this weird device to get the air out, even though the hole would heal itself.

Eric shrugged, and I couldn't focus enough to harp on about it. "Fine. Do it."

"Good girl. Alcide, come here."

"What's he for?"

"Pulling the stake out. Ready?"

"Hell no." The wild-haired Were was crouching next to me now, his hands around the piece of wood and looking at Eric behind me. I felt a cool hand snake around mine, giving it a reassuring little squeeze.

"On my mark, pull it out, then press your hands to the wound." Alcide nodded, adjusted his grip, and then waited. A moment later, without any particular warning, he ripped the stake from my chest, and all my nerves ignited into fire. For the first time since being impaled, I screamed. I screamed long and hard, clutching Eric's hand hard enough to break human bones, and then there was a bloody wrist gagging me. I screamed around it, until Eric's voice broke through the pain, urging me to drink. My eyes rolled upward, searching, but all I could find were a few wisps of hair. I wasn't even sure if it was mine or his that I was seeing...the color was so similar...

"Drink!" The command was piercing, and my brain finally caught up. My lips latched onto the wound, and I drank.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I don't remember at what point I passed out. I remember the pain fading rapidly, and the Spanish-speaking voices that had been screaming in my head following more slowly. I remember Alcide taking his hands away, covered in blood - my blood - when the hole filled in. I remember Eric stroking my hair, murmuring soothing sounds into my ear, easing me back onto his lap as he opened his wrist a second time. His eyes, so blue, boring into my own and my mind suddenly floating above the pain.

When I woke up, I was somewhere else, my mind still floaty. There was no concrete floor, only plush cushions and beige walls; no smell of blood, only crisp leather. No voices, just a single void a few feet away. I forced my eyes wider, blinking until the shapes resolved themselves into Eric.

"Why..." I trailed off. "M'head's fuzzy."

"That would be the morphine. You lost consciousness before you were fully healed."

"Morphine? Uh'love Morphine. So sexy...mesmerizing. Makes me want to...mmm. Like you." I smiled, then began to sing off-key; tried to, anyway - the result was probably more like mumbling off-key. "You're the night...you're a folk tale, the unexplainable/you're a bedime story, the one that keeps the curtains closed..." I stopped. "Wait, tha's not right. Missed some." I frowned into the couch-bed-thing I was lying on.

"It's fine."

I looked up again. Sometime while I'd been babbling about Morphine and Mark Sandman's hypnotically sexy voice, Eric had crossed the aisle to crouch next to me, his face level with mine. His eyes seemed to bore into my soul, somehow expressing concern without actually twitching his standard neutral expression out of place, and provided the anchor for me to dredge myself back to coherency. I blinked and noticed that he'd wrapped his hand around mine, and that his thumb was absentmindedly stroking along my knuckles. He gave no indication that he was aware he was doing it, and somehow I knew that if I drew attention to it, he'd stop. It felt nice, safe, and I didn't want it to ever end.

I smiled at him, just a little thing to let him know I was fine, and the answering smile was so brilliant it seemed he'd invented it just for me. I melted a little, under the light of that smile, but then the jet - it was now obvious that that was where we were - hit an air pocket and the moment was gone.

I groaned a little at being jostled before pushing myself slowly up to a sitting position, leaning heavily against the arm of the sofa. Eric watched impassively while I got settled, then settled himself back in his chair across the aisle.

"You are well?"

"Better, anyway. I take it we got out alright?" He raised an eyebrow as if to say 'Obviously.' I felt my forehead crinkle in response.

"We were successful. The _geas_ should be neutralized." I had a sickening feeling that meant they'd killed everyone. I didn't ask, though, because if I was right...well, I didn't want to be right.

"Oh? How do you feel?" I noticed, belatedly, that he'd ditched his tux. I was also, it seemed, wearing some new clothes. I had the disjointed feeling that I should care about that, but I didn't. Kind of like when I was too exhausted to change into pajamas, except more like I was too relaxed to worry.

"Like usual. No desire to participate in bizarre sporting events of my own invention, adopt any sort of pet, or otherwise bring mass attention to myself."

"Mass attention?"

"There are certain, singular, parties whose regard I would not mind holding."

"Ah." I knew where he was going with that and brought the subject back to business. "Did Amelia get anything useful out of them? Where is everyone, anyway?"

"Through that door." He pointed at the bulkhead to my left. "I thought it best to keep you separate." He looked entirely too smug with his own decision-making.

"Fine. Works for me." I didn't feel so bad, but I didn't want anyone fawning over me, so I was happy to be out of the way. "Whose plane is this?"

"I believe it belongs to the Duke of North Baja."

"Is that who Dario worked for?"

"Who?"

"The vampire who joined us at the border. I've been calling him Dario. In here." I tapped my head and grinned.

"Ah, no. He reports directly to his king."

I connected a few dots in my head. "So, what you're saying is that Dario is this Duke guy?"

"He pronounces it 'Rick.'"

"Why are we using his jet?" I asked, ignoring the correction.

"He recognized the opportunity to create a debt between himself and the holder of a very valuable telepathic asset."

I frowned. The implications of that statement were annoying. "He knew I was a telepath." No response. "You made me a bargaining chip in the negotiations." More silence. "You...were always going to make me come, weren't you?" A hint of a smirk, and I realized what he'd heard. I blinked at him and started giggling, having another of those weird moments where my reaction didn't feel quite right. He responded with a slight gesture, his hands spreading as if to say 'what can you do?'

A minute later, I was sucking in harsh breaths, the laughter pulling at my tender flesh enough to break through the morphine. When I finally got myself under control, I decided to circle us back to the reason we'd gone south of the border in the first place and hope that would be enough to stay under control.

"Did we learn anything from the _brujos_?"

"Only that they were hired by a man in a suit, who they understood was from the corporate headquarters. He said it was a marketing gambit. When he was able to get them the appropriate permissions to operate in the plant after hours, they assumed he was legitimate."

"Was there a name?"

"Hayes."

I furrowed my brow, screwing up my eyes as I thought back. It was hard, because I'd been very distracted at the time, but I had some impressions. Eyes still closed, I asked another question.

"Did Amelia say anything...did she get the impression that they were leaving something out?" I remembered getting a flash of eyes like fire and a distinct feeling of unease and mistrust.

I heard a rustling of cloth against leather that was probably a shrug. "She was very busy waving her hands and squeaking."

I nodded, smiling sadly. "Sorry about that. I didn't expect her to go so much to pieces." I dropped it until I could ask her directly. "The publicity thing didn't put up any red flags? I mean, they knew exactly what they were putting into that _geas_."

He didn't respond, so I opened my eyes. He was looking at me like he wasn't quite sure if I was serious. "All right, fair enough. The stake sort of gives it away. So, who do we think this Hayes character is?"

"Pam is checking."

"Hm. I don't think he's with the Fellowship."

"Oh?"

"This is too indirect for them. They're more slapdash than subtle, and even if they weren't, they're more into showing you for monsters, not...celebrities with odd habits." That nearly set me off again, but I choked down the laughter.

He nodded slightly in acknowledgement. "So?"

"Well, I think it's possible that everything is on the up-and-up, so to speak, but I don't think it's very likely. As publicity stunts go, it's pretty awful. Not only does it make your clientele look strange, it makes them suspicious of your product should they ever put two and two together, which is bound to happen eventually. It just doesn't add up.

"Which leaves a third party looking to harm your reputation without regard to the collateral damage, and back to my question as to who dislikes you guys."

"Fine, don't talk to me. I'll just sit here and think quietly to myself," I said flippantly. Actually, sitting was starting to ache. Not hurt, per se, since I was still full of morphine, but I was growing uncomfortable. Slowly and deliberately, I slid myself back down to a prone position, curling my legs as I rolled onto my side to look at Eric again. He was watching with noted interest, but hadn't made a move to help me, and I was perversely grateful for it.

I brought a hand to where I knew the wound was, pressing on it gently and wincing at the tenderness. "It aches and itches at the same time," I muttered, giving him a look to keep him from commenting. Nothing he could say would help.

I let my eyes close as I considered the problem, stretching outward with my mind as well to reassure myself that everyone was where they should be. Amelia was asleep, and Alcide seemed to be dozing. I took a deep breath, inwardly celebrating that I even could, and as I let it out, I had a crazy thought.

"Eric," I said, keeping my eyes shut and my tone level.

"Yes, my Sookie?"

"I'm not yours. What if vampires are not the target of this contamination plot?"

"We were clearly the target."

"No, I mean overall. What if you guys are just collateral damage, and someone's playing a much larger game?"

There was silence for several moments, which I took to mean he was thinking. "Possible, but I don't think it's likely."

I shrugged slightly. "Yeah, it's pretty crazy." I started to say more, but was interrupted by a yawn.

"Sleep, Sookie. You can tell me your theories later."

"Hmph. Fine. G'night."

"Good night, Sookie." Even with my eyes closed and my brain shutting down, I could tell he was smirking.

* * *

><p>In the reviews last week, momzombie pointed out that the squad's composition sounded like the start to a bad joke (A vampire, a werewolf, a witch, and a telepath walk into a pub...). The only things that come to my mind end up sounding like Bill Bailey's surrealist "Three Blokes" jokeramble, so if any of you lovely reader-types can come up with something, do feel free to share.

_Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind._


	8. In Which Sookie Earns A Living

In the continuing saga of why PMR is awesome, thanks are due not only for getting her pre-read on despite a busy week, but also for sharing a factoid about the Crusades' cruelest bastards that I hadn't known before.

* * *

><p>I spent the morning sleeping at Amelia's, then drove back to Bon Temps and did my best to seem normal around Gran before falling into bed again. Even with the vampire blood, and despite the fact that I hadn't been awake for nearly as long as I'd expected to be overnight, I was exhausted. I probably shouldn't have made the six-hour drive when I was so tired and with morphine lingering in my system, but Gran was expecting me and it wouldn't do for her to be suspicious. When I got up at my usual late-morning hour the next day, she only ribbed me lightly about it.<p>

"Late night partying at the convention?"

"No, Gran, just a couple of long drives and a long day surrounded by a lot of people."

I fixed myself a cup of coffee and eased myself into a seat at the table. Out of habit, my fingers traced the grooves in the surface of the wood, even as I wedged my slipper under one leg to keep the chair from wobbling.

"Breakfast, dear?"

"Oh, no, Gran, you don't have to get me anything. I'll make some toast or something in just a minute."

"Nonsense, dear. You're gripping that mug like it holds the secret to eternal life and swaying almost as much as that chair you're in. Let me feed you."

I sighed and massaged my brow. Clearly all that vampire blood I'd had wasn't enough - at least she hadn't picked up on how ramrod-straight I was sitting. "Whatever's easiest. Don't go to any trouble on my account."

She made a sort of snorting noise and went to work, bustling around the kitchen. Before long, she was sliding a plate of eggs and a bowl of oatmeal to me, with an assurance that the bacon was nearly done. I smiled and dug in, because by gum that's the southern way, and anyway I was suddenly starving.

When I was finished with breakfast, I insisted on washing up, and then Gran let me disappear into my room, where I set an alarm and lay down to read. I was not at all surprised when the alarm woke me again two hours before I needed to be at work, my hand wedged into the book and marking where I'd stopped - a mere two pages from where I had started. Groggily, and stiffly, I set myself to getting ready.

The closet presented the first hurdle - there was no way I'd be able to manage one of my normal work outfits, not with my torso still sore and healing. The trick, therefore, was to find something that wouldn't put much pressure on my wounded bits while still fitting with the bar's atmosphere. What I eventually decided on was sure to scandalize Gran, so I zipped out to the hall closet (or tried to) to fetch my coat before I got into the shower.

An hour later, I was practically sprinting out of the house, hair still damp and makeup barely in place, and half-heartedly waving to Gran as I hurried to get to work slightly less late. Between not being able to move properly, nearly falling asleep again in the shower, and unexpected difficulty maintaining decency in my chosen wardrobe, there was no way I'd be able to make Fangtasia by my usual time, which would no doubt throw my entire shift off. At least Chow would be there.

In point of fact, though, he wasn't. Instead, I slipped behind the bar, slightly breathless, to find a substantial portion of my area occupied by invading boss. He didn't turn as I came in, nor when I demanded to know what he was doing.

"Filling in for Chow."

"And why, pray tell, does Chow require replacing?" If asked, I would blame my irritation on my recent close encounter with a stake, and no one would get me to say differently.

"I have sent him and Pam out. Given that you tire, I thought it prudent, financially, that you not be forced to cope with our heaviest crowds on your own. If you are unhappy with the arrangement, perhaps you should have stayed conscious longer. Your wound would have been fully-healed and you would have more energy."

"So instead I get to manage a full crowd with 'help' from a manager-type who doesn't know his ass from a jigger. Pardon me if I'm incredulous."

Eric laughed, waggling a finger at me while he tended to whatever-it-was. "Sookie, my darling, I can assure you that I can differentiate between my ass and this," he reached across the bar for the aforementioned jigger and waved it at me before returning it to its spot, "as I spent many years tending bar before the Revelation."

"I'm not your darling."

"Perhaps not yet. Do you really think that I -" I'd been putting my coat in the cubby under the bar and straightened to notice he'd turned around and was staring. I frowned as his eyes traveled north, taking in the full ensemble, even as I smiled on the inside and wondered if he'd pick up on the image I was evoking.

"What? I can't manage a corset yet, so I thought this might be acceptable."

He licked his lips, his eyes firmly locked onto my chest. The tight jeans and tall boots I'd pulled on would likely have gained his attention on their own, but the crowning glory was the vest that only barely kept me this side of public decency laws, and only that by the grace of industrial-strength double-stick tape. The scar was partly visible, but I hadn't been able to resist re-creating _the_ outfit, the one he'd worn that first night, even though I knew I was playing with fire.

"It's certainly that."

"Good," I chirped. "I'd hate to have to change now." I turned away from him, falling into my pre-opening routine.

We worked in silence for a while, until he broke it just before opening to ask, "Is that true?"

I mentally reviewed what I'd said last and came up with nothing. "Is what true?"

"That." I looked up to see him pointing at my tip jar, or rather the note on it. "Oh. That."

_Your __bartender __is __a __trained __psychologist__. __Tips __keep __her __from __bringing __up __your __daddy __issues__._

"You never noticed that before?"

"I did, actually. Is it true?"

"The claim or the threat?"

"Both."

I sighed. "Yeah. It's on my résumé, you know, if you'd bothered to read it."

"And the threat?"

"Well, they don't all have daddy issues, but a lot of them do. Not that I intend to actually follow through, but I reserve the right."

"I would like to see that." He sounded like he would, too.

I snorted. "Keep your ears open. Maybe you'll catch me at it one of these nights."

He laughed, and if it wasn't quite the one that made me want to drag him off to the back room, it was real close. I joined him in a chuckle that sort of faded until we were left grinning at each other like fools. Indira, who was apparently tonight's bouncer, walked by and laughed - no, tittered - at us. I blushed and turned away, jumping slightly as she threw the big steel open. Eric, his voice still full of mirth, murmured, "Showtime."

~~~ИΞEN~~~

"So, you've been a bartender before." We were in a lull, and he had so far shown himself to be more-than-adequate behind the bar. "But you can't have done that this entire time. If nothing else, it would get boring."

He chuckled. "I thought you would say that there haven't been bars for a thousand years, which is utterly untrue. But you're right. I've done many things."

"Like what?" He eyed me like I couldn't possibly want what I was asking for, and I waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, give me the edited version. The highlights."

"The...highlights. Of a thousand years. Lovely Sookie, unless you wish to do nothing but listen for days, the 'highlights' are the only option."

"Pff. You know what I mean. You've been a barman. What else?"

"I was twice among the Varangian Guard - once under a Komnenian Emperor, and again during the fourth Crusade."

"You fought in the Crusades? How did that work?"

"No. I was present in the area because it was a convenient and easy way to feed, nothing more. With such a high density of truculent Europeans, it took only the barest effort to hide my nature."

"Oh. What else?"

"I spent some time in Japan, learning the art of the samurai, but that didn't last long." The way he said it, I got the impression that he'd been spotted for what he was too often and fled.

"Did you ever run into one of those hopping vampires?"

He blinked at me. "The jiang shi? They're Chinese, and anyway more zombie than vampire."

"Interesting. Then what?"

"Europe again. Doge's guard, in Venice."

"I know it's in your nature to fight and be a warrior," I started, inexplicably annoyed at the history he was giving me, "but didn't you do anything else?" There was a slightly pause when I realized the opening I'd given him, and I rushed to say, "Other than that. I am well aware that you're into that."

"I suspect you have only the vaguest notion of what I'm 'into.' This," he said, indicating the club and its denizens, "is the barest scrap of nothing, compared to the places I've been."

"I don't doubt it." And I didn't. If there was one thing I believed of vampires, it was that their lives were way messier and downright yuckier than they let on.

"But you're right, I've done other things. While it is easier for me to blend in among warriors, I did spend some time in the company of the more...eccentric members of European society."

"Like who?"

"The second Earl of Rochester, who was unpleasant but kept convenient company, and briefly Giacomo Casanova, who was as entertaining as he was a spendthrift."

"Oh." I wasn't sure who the first person he'd named was, but everyone knew about Casanova. I almost asked, but if Eric found this Rochester guy unpleasant, then anything he told me would probably be absolutely vile.

"Why do you do this?"

I stopped short, blinking, and nearly overfilled the pint I was pulling. "What?"

"Why, if you are a trained psychologist, do you tend bar?"

Ah. That was an easy question. "Ethical dilemma: does it violate the patient's privacy for me to pull the truth out of their minds and make recommendations based on that, or am I ethically bound to make my analysis based on the lies and half-truths that they actually say?" I stopped talking for a moment to deal with another customer. "The thing is, I can still use my degree even if I'm not practicing, so to speak. In a bar, people are too drunk to notice or care when I respond to something they haven't said out loud, and are liable to spill their guts anyway. Not so much in this bar, maybe, but most I've worked at have a bit of that sort of behavior."

Eric looked like he was chewing on that, probably trying to remember why humans had ethics, so I left him to it. It's not that I didn't think Eric had morals, because he patently did, but they were just so weird and foreign to someone like me, who'd grown up a Christian in the late 20th century, that I figured he had just as much trouble with mine.

"That explains why you remain a bartender, but it does not tell me how you became one."

I laughed. "Now I'm positive that you didn't read my résumé. It's all there, Eric."

He smiled. "Humor me."

"Fine. I started out as a waitress, over at Merlotte's."

"Ah," he interrupted, "And how is the shaggy proprietor?"

I narrowed my eyes, regarding him with suspicion. "He's fine. I didn't know you knew Sam."

He shrugged, apparently oblivious to my expression. "We've met."

"Sure." There was something he wasn't telling me, and while it could just be that they knew each other from a bar owners' association, I got the distinct impression it was less-than-mundane. I set it aside to deal with later. "Now, do you want to know how I got here, or not?"

He smiled, his eyes telling me that he wanted to know a great many things.

"Well, one at a time, buster," I said, responding to the implied comment. He looked like he was going to protest that name, so I held up a hand. "If you keep interrupting me, I won't tell you."

Eric responded to this threat as though he was locking his mouth shut and dropping the key down the garbage disposal. I fought to keep from laughing, then I told him my not-so-sordid history of employment in the service industry.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

"You haven't been juggling tonight."

It took me a moment to process what he'd said, which I spent blinking into a tumbler full of ice, a bottle of vodka in one hand and the soda gun in the other. "Oh, you mean the flair. No, I haven't been." I handed the vodka-cranberry to the waiting tourist.

"Why not?"

"Haven't needed to, for one. Having you back here has kept people pretty well enthralled. Too sore, for another."

"A fair argument," he said, nodding amiably. "Was there another reason?"

Sneaky vampire - I hadn't thought I'd given that away. "Yes."

"Which is?"

I glared at him and the lascivious look I knew was brewing under that cheerful smile. "Fangtasia isn't that kind of bar."

"That hasn't stopped you before."

"Not a flair bar, Eric." I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "My outfit is secured with tape."

"Tape?"

"Yes, to hold me in. Tape which does not react well to the kind of sweating I do when I get really into it." I glanced up at him, only to see the smile had morphed to a gleeful grin showing a hint of fang, and sighed again.

When his laughter settled a minute later, his fangs were up but I was blushing something furious. "Then I suppose a lesson is out of the question?"

"Tonight, most definitely yes. This isn't really the venue for it, anyway. Wouldn't want to waste your booze, after all."

Eric made a sort of dismissive sound that reminded me mightily of Pam. "You are making excuses. The pours do not require much movement."

"But those are best taught in slow motion, which doesn't work for measuring correctly." I slid a beer over to a man in off the base, then looked back at Eric. "Oh, who'm I kidding. You can see everything when I do it full speed. Fine, I'll do the pours, and you can watch, then try them yourself if you like."

He nodded sharply, smugly pleased to be getting his way.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I found out at closing that Eric was lousy at cleaning. He was fine at every other part of bartending, but he didn't seem to understand about washing up. I wasn't sure if he was actually clueless or just being intentionally obtuse, but the result was the same - after a while I gave up trying to get him to sweep and set him up with a pile of glasses, telling him to load the washer. I hadn't actively wished for Chow back all night, but at that point I did, since he at least understood the concept of splitting the workload. Sweeping and mopping was a particular hell, fatigue making my healing chest especially sensitive, so I didn't notice immediately when Eric started talking to me again.

"Chow should be back tomorrow."

I nodded. "That'll be nice." I'd barely finished the last word when I felt the air go tense, and I knew I'd said something wrong.

"Then you prefer him to me?"

"Not until about twenty minutes ago," I responded, sweetly, while turning to get a bead on his mood. He wasn't frowning, not quite, but his face was rapidly shutting down, stowing away all the camaraderie we'd built up during the evening.

"And before?" His tone was clipped, precise.

"It doesn't matter." I didn't have the energy to deal with his hissy-fit, especially not if he was going to leave all the cleaning to me.

He stared at me, clearly waiting for an answer his question.

"Seriously, Eric, it doesn't matter. It's not like you'll be replacing Chow back here full-time - you're too busy running this place. And I definitely didn't say I actively dislike you, or even working with you, just that - right now - I'd prefer Chow. Why do you even care?"

"Why are you dodging the question?"

"Because you're awful at cleaning and I'm pretty sure you know it, making this line of questioning nothing more than a stall so I'll do your work for you!" My voice climbed in pitch, hitting the shrill end of the spectrum as I vented my frustration. I took a deep breath and continued. "Look. In general, I like you. You're pretty fun to be around. You talk to me, unlike Chow, but right now I'm annoyed because you're hanging me out to dry."

"I could argue that it's all your work, being your employer." The corners of hit mouth twitched with hints and whispers of a smile.

"You could, and I wouldn't be able to fight it, but then I'd know for sure that this whole bartending gig was nothing more than another attempt to get in my pants, you big bullshitter."

"I am wounded that you think so little of me."

"Well, try a little harder and maybe I'll change my opinion. How did you get out of cleaning the bar before?"

"Health codes were more lax."

I had to laugh at that, because it was both incredibly plausible and just the sort of thing that a vampire would find beneath his notice. "Oh my lord, you were one of those bartenders who stood there 'washing' glasses with a filthy, grey rag, weren't you? I'd hoped that was just something that happened in the movies, but apparently not."

Eric was laughing, too, even as he finished his thought, "But mostly I talked the waitresses and other bartenders into doing it for me." He smiled charmingly and I rolled my eyes, realizing that I'd fallen into the same trap.

"Eric Northman, you are incorrigible. I'm going home. Thank you for your help tonight, limited though it was." I pulled on my coat (hardly wincing at all), slung my purse over my shoulder, and walked away without a backward glance.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

About halfway home, my fatigue started to really catch up with me, and it was a struggle to stay awake behind the wheel - I resorted to turning on a heavy-metal station at full volume and turning off the heater to shock myself out of being drowsy. Nonetheless, I was not at my most aware when I pulled around behind the farmhouse, nor when I hung my coat in the back closet, and certainly not when I flicked the kitchen light on.

The moment light filled that homey space, though, I certainly was.

* * *

><p><em>Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind.<em>


	9. In Which Several Facts Go Unmentioned

Unlike last time there was a delay, this one was mostly about me being busy and lazy. As per the script, I'd like to thank PMR for helping me beat this into shape, and also for reminding me that it's about time for me to re-watch Buffy. After all, it's been nine years, and with seven seasons of moments to remember, a few have slipped my mind.

* * *

><p>There is no way to describe the scene of a violent death that does it full justice. Even the most emotionally-wrought narrative fails to capture the vividness of the color, the sharpness of the scents, the utter horror that such a thing could possibly exist in a world which had, to that point, been perfectly orderly by comparison. Nothing can prepare you for the bewildering combination of visceral terror and detached evaluation, nor the self-loathing that you could be so callous as to be thinking about how much of a pain it'll all be to clean. And that's all before the shock sets in.<p>

I might have screamed; I probably did, actually, considering the rawness of my throat later, but I don't actually recall. I was too busy having the images burned indelibly into my retinas, where I suspect they will sneak up on me at random for the rest of my life. There was blood everywhere - everywhere - even sprayed across the ceiling and the windows, shining glossily in the harsh overhead light; in a brief moment of distraction I wondered how I'd managed not to step in any yet. The scent of it was pervasive, a harsh coppery odor that burned at my nose but failed to cover up the stench of human waste.

In the midst of it all was my Gran, her eyes wide and staring, terrified, at the ceiling. It was too shocking for words.

The most shocking part of the scene, though, was standing over her, coated to his elbows and splashed liberally elsewhere: my Grandpa Fintan.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

With a jolt, the detached evaluation was knocked out of my head and I was left, backed against the wall, with the harsh reality. Grandpa Fintan started to step around the body slowly, treating me like I was a spooked animal, but he stopped when I made a small noise and left me alone, huddled in the outside doorframe.

"Sookie? Sookie, dear?" By the sound of it, he'd been trying to get my attention for several minutes. I nodded dumbly.

"I'm not sure what you think you're seeing here, but I _did __not_ kill Adele, and I never would have."

It took me a few moments of false starts to find my voice, but finally I managed to respond. "Then who did? Who would do this to Gran?"

"My father's enemies." His face went dark, his voice raw with barely-tempered rage. "They wish to make war over our association with humans."

"Why didn't you stop them?" Slowly, my terror was leeching away, an inviting sort of numbness flowing in to replace it. "Why attack my Gran if their problem is with you?"

He sighed and answered only my second question. "Because she is dear to me. Because I am my father's favorite. Because this will force me to take an active role." He suddenly hid his face in his hands, heedless of the blood, raking his fingers back through his hair in an oddly human gesture. "I should have stayed away, stayed dead. I thought...I thought if I lingered, I could keep you safe." He shook his head, and I knew instinctively that I was losing him, and just as clearly that I needed him to focus again.

"Grandpa Fintan, _what __happened_?"

He shook himself and his eyes took on a savage quality, like he was losing grip of the magic that kept him looking human. "Adele and I were asleep in the bedroom, but she got up...perhaps half an hour ago, for water." He gestured vaguely at a glass, half-filled, sitting on the counter. "I did not wake completely until she screamed, but by the time I made it here, she was gone, or nearly so."

"And where were the people that did this?" I couldn't figure out why he'd stopped there, when there were clearly more pertinent details. "Are they going to come after me and Jason, too?"

"There were two of them, Odran and Turlough, but they are now none."

"You killed them?"

"Of course." He looked perplexed that I would think anything else possible.

"Where are the bodies?" I asked gently.

He gestured out the door behind me. "Gone."

"You mean they're out in the yard? In the woods? How the hell am I gonna explain that to the police?"

"No," he replied, disturbingly calm, "they are gone."

"What do you mean, 'gone?' Bodies don't just disappear."

"Human bodies, no. Fairies turn to dust when they die."

"Oh...huh." At least I wouldn't have to explain to the sheriff how I'd killed two men without getting a speck of blood on me. I shifted, kicking my legs out (away from the blood), because I was suddenly feeling very cramped. "So what do we do now?"

"Do? What do we _do_? We take the fight to Breandan, dearest granddaughter."

"Right. That's all well and good, but I meant right now. My Gran is lying dead in her kitchen, and I can't very well tell the sheriff that _fairies_ killed her. And how do I explain _you_? You've been dead for _years_!" My volume was rising with my blood pressure, the panic setting in again. I could feel tears of frustration building, and suddenly something snapped tight in me. I could do this later. Right now, there were problems to be solved. I took a deep, only slightly shaky, breath, and pushed myself off the floor.

"Grandpa Fintan, you've got to go. You can fight this Breandan guy," I stumbled a little over the pronunciation, "if you think that's what needs to be done, but you need to leave now, before I call the police and they try to charge you with murder."

He looked at me for a long moment, his expression a mixed bag of affront and respect. Finally, he sketched a half-bow, the courtly effect ruined by his grisly appearance, and stepped around me and out the door. I watched him go, following him as long as I could before pulling my phone out of my purse and making the call.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

They were there in fifteen minutes, which was pretty good for pushing four in the morning. I was waiting on the back stoop, because every second I had to spend in that little entryway, staring at my Gran's corpse, was one second closer to having a total breakdown. While I was waiting, I'd tried calling Jason, but it went to voicemail, so I left a shaky message telling him to call me when he checked his phone. I just couldn't bring myself to break the news of our Gran's murder to an impersonal machine. The next call should've been to Sam, who'd been good to me and was probably one of my best friends, not that I had a lot of them to compare. I knew it as soon as I pressed 'send,' but my fingers weren't fast enough to catch it before it stopped dialing, and then there was no escaping. He'd know I'd called.

Three rings later, Eric's voice was drifting out of my tinny speaker.

"Sookie, my little juggler. When did I give you my phone number?"

"Pam gave it to me a couple of weeks ago, in case I needed to talk to you at work. I shouldn't have called. I don't know why I did. I'm sorry to disturb you. I'll just hang up now." I pulled the phone away from my ear, intending to do just that, but he started talking at me.

"No, now you've intrigued me. What is wrong?"

A snort caught in my throat. "Well, I suppose now's as good a time as any to tell you I'll need a few days off, 'cause my Gran's dead." A sniffle snuck through.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Murdered. Gotta plan the funeral." I pointedly didn't elaborate. He didn't know about my fairy relatives, and he didn't need to.

"I see."

"Yeah. Look, I should've hung up when I said I would, but I really have to now. The sheriff's department'll be here any minute. I'll let you know when I'll be back to work. Bye." I hung up before he had a chance to draw me back into the conversation.

It was just in time, too, because I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel drive, and then Andy Bellefleur was calling around the house.

"Miss Stackhouse? It's Detective Bellefleur!"

"I know, Andy. I'm around back." My voice sounded oddly flat. He came around the house a few seconds later, his clothes rumpled and askew. I couldn't decide if it looked like he'd slept in them, or if he'd thrown on whatever he'd been wearing yesterday. Of course, what he looked like quickly ran out of my head, because it took him all of half a second to notice what I had (or didn't have) on and start judging. I responded more automatically than out of any real feeling, wrapping my arms tightly across my chest and willing him not to notice the shiny pink scar that was only about half-covered by my vest. His eyes narrowed at the sudden change in posture, which he found vaguely suspicious, but he didn't say anything, especially since he hadn't even seen the body yet.

"Gran's in the kitchen," I said, my voice flat. I gestured behind me with a shoulder as I scooted to the side. He grunted, his thoughts flashing with the discomfort he wouldn't let himself show, and brushed past me on his way into the house. I shivered in the slight breeze his passage created and gazed dully into the gloom for a bit more, then stood, remembering that I had an old Bon Temps Softball sweatshirt in my car that could help with both the chill and the uncharitable thoughts.

I settled myself in a lawn chair when the rest of the police showed up, watching vaguely as all three of them buzzed in and around the house, all lit up against the dark backdrop, like wasps with fingerprinting kits and little disposable booties. It all seemed unnecessarily busy for someone who couldn't appreciate their efforts anymore, but I suppose if I hadn't known who killed her, it would be a comfort to know that they were working hard to find out who did. I sort of felt bad about that, actually, that they were exerting themselves to find a pair of killers who were not only dead themselves, but were well beyond the scope of the Renard Parish Sheriff's Department.

In short order, Mike Spencer arrived with his hearse, presumably because it was the only vehicle suited to the task of transporting Gran's body, and disappeared into the house with the rest of them. I hugged my knees and counted the escaping threads in the cuffs of the well-worn sweatshirt, both hoping for and dreading a return call from Jason. Before too long had passed, maybe ten minutes, Mike and Kevin Prior emerged, a long black bag suspended between them. My breath caught and I looked away. I heard the sounds of the hearse's doors opening and closing, and then the crunch of tires on gravel as it drove away. I turned back to the house and saw someone coming out to me.

Even though he was backlit and I couldn't make out his features, I could tell it was him from that rolling, self-important gait he'd adopted since joining the police force. He was a good detective, but he had some very definite ideas about the kind of respect he should be getting from the people of Bon Temps, and it rubbed something fierce that they wouldn't cooperate with his vision. Of course, he never said anything, so most people just assumed that the stress of the job had made him surly. I couldn't say that I did any better, but like the rest of the town, I couldn't erase more than twenty years of shared history and treat him like he'd always been a cop.

"Evening, Miss Stackhouse."

"It's basically morning, Andy," I interrupted.

"So it is." He was thinking that even if I was grieving, that wasn't reason to mouth off when he was just trying to do his job. I regretted nothing. "Just need to get your statement."

"Sure."

"Could you run through your evening for me, through finding the departed?"

I nodded, trying to appear more helpful than I was feeling. It was way past my bedtime, and any adrenaline that had been carrying me before had long since faded. "I was at work until, uh, two-thirty, I think. I didn't actually look at the clock when I punched out." I rubbed my eye with my sleeve. "It's about an hour's drive home, but I was really tired, so it might've taken longer. I don't know."

"And when you arrived home?" Andy's thoughts were dancing around the outfit I'd been wearing when he showed up, wondering what kind of work it was I did, exactly.

"I went in the back door, like normal, and switched on the light so I wouldn't trip on the furniture. I mean, I've lived here most of my life, I know where everything is, but it's habit, I guess. Gran sleeps with her door closed, so the light doesn't bother her." My voice caught, and it took a couple tries to get it going again. "I switched on the light, and there was Gran. I called 911 as soon I thought to, and then I went outside to wait, which is where you found me, Andy."

"Right." There was a few minutes' silence while Andy wrote that down, consulted things he'd already noted, and muttered to himself. Finally, he looked back up and addressed me. "Alright, Miss Stackhouse. I think I have everything for now. We'll need you to come in and sign off on the formal statement, but you can do that tomorrow, after you've had some sleep." He paused, small town habits exerting themselves. "We'll be out of here in a few minutes," he started, and behind him, I could see signs of Kevin and Kenya Jones packing up, "but if you don't mind me saying, you should probably leave, too. I wouldn't want to sleep in there, and you look like you could use some." I nodded dumbly, aware that what he was saying made a certain kind of sense, but also aware that I didn't exactly have somewhere else to go. After a few beats of awkward silence, he nodded smartly and left me be, thinking as he tromped back to his car that I was really odd, and ungrateful to boot. I ignored him.

The night got really quiet after that, what few night critters there were in winter coming back slowly. I shivered in the chill and wondered if having my coat would help with the cold leaching in through my bottom. Probably not, and even if it would, I didn't want to go in the house yet. She was gone, yes, but the blood was still there. I could see it clearly, splashed across the windows, because the police hadn't bothered to turn the light off. That was fine, though, since it meant I wasn't sitting in total darkness, all by myself.

I figured the next thing to deal with was the cleanup, then the funeral, but what I really wanted to do was crawl into bed and not come out for a good long while. I was exhausted, but like Andy had suggested, I didn't want to sleep in there. Not yet, not with the kitchen still like that. I could go over to Jason's place, since I had a key, but even if I felt up to driving I didn't want to risk interrupting whatever he had going - he deserved to be happy for just a little while longer, because soon he was going to be very sad. An ugly part of me, the part they were always talking about when they said misery loves company, was all for bursting his bubble as soon as possible, but I tamped it down. It wasn't productive to think like that.

Not that freezing stiff out in the yard was very productive, either, but it was as good as anything while I figured out what would be. Maybe Grandpa Fintan would come back and have an idea. He'd been gone too long to just be waiting out in the woods for the authorities to clear out, so I could only assume that he was taking care of this in his own way, stalking about wherever it was he went when he wasn't around. The fairy realms, probably. It occurred to me that for someone partially raised by a fairy, I was oddly ignorant of their ways. Granted, I hadn't known he was a fairy until I was a teenager, when the frequency of his visits was drastically reduced by his "death," so perhaps I was excused in my ignorance.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

The sound of a car coming up the gravel drive startled me out of a doze. I didn't know who it was, and I didn't care to look up and see. I was nearly certain that any fairies who may or may not want to kill me did not drive automobiles, so it was probably the police again, or maybe Jason responding in person. Whoever it was, I would find out as soon as he came around the house and into hearing range. I could deal with it then.

Despite my determination to pay the unknown person no mind until he addressed me, I couldn't help but follow the sound of his progress, coming around the side of the house and nearly making it back around toward the front before noticing me and changing direction. The cadence of approaching footfalls was light, graceful, and completely disappeared upon reaching the lawn, so I lost track of where he was.

"What are you doing down there?"

Oh. It was Eric.

"Sitting," I said into my knees. When he didn't reply, I looked up at him, looming a few feet away. "What d'you want now?"

Instead of answering, he grabbed another lawn chair and parked himself next to me, leaving only a few inches of space between us. "It wasn't a vampire."

"I know. There's blood everywhere. Sort of gave it away."

I couldn't see if he'd made any sort of acknowledging gesture because I'd put my head back on my knees, but I didn't really care one way or the other. After a moment, he slipped a hand into mine, pressed against my leg. I could barely feel the difference in skin temperature.

"Do you plan to sleep outside?" I shook my head, rubbing my forehead against the denim of my jeans. "Then where?" I shrugged.

His leather jacket (brown, and too bulky to really suit him) creaked as he stood, taking my arm with him. He tugged it gently. "Come. There is not much time until dawn, and I am underconfident in your car's ability to see me to safety if we do not leave now." I let him pull me upright and lead me to the passenger door, digging the keys out of my pocket before I sat down on the old vinyl seat.

* * *

><p><em>Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind.<em>


	10. In Which Sookie Cannot Find An Oven

This is the part of the author's note where I thank PMR for having my back more than half a globe away. This is the second sentence of the author's note, wherein a further note at the bottom of the chapter is mentioned.

* * *

><p>Eric was surprisingly convincing as a paragon of gentlemanly virtue, between handing me down into the car and making sure I was completely inside before shutting the door for me. The image sort of fell apart, however, when he got to the driver's side. While he fought with the seat, trying to adjust it to his much-longer legs, I dug around in the glove box for some tissues, since my nose had started to run. Having nowhere else to put them, I stuffed the used ones into the front pocket of my battered hoodie, and in the process encountered the smooth lines of my phone.<p>

Jason hadn't called back.

Gran was dead, Jason still didn't know, and I wasn't in a position to meet him in-person to tell him.

There was nothing for it, then.

I set to remedying the situation, hoping that he'd be near enough to waking up for work that he'd hear the phone ringing, but realistically knowing that he would be sound asleep in God-knows-whose bed. The phone clicked to voicemail, and I struggled to leave a message that would let him know that something serious was up without sounding too impersonal, as well as telling him where I was.

"Uh, Jason, it's me. Sookie. I called you earlier, but you haven't responded, so I'm calling again." I took a deep breath, the sobs I was holding back rattling in my chest. "You really, really need to get in touch with me before you talk to anyone else, and definitely don't go to Gran's before calling me back." I was pretty sure even Jason would be able to guess roughly what was going on. "I'm headed to Shreveport to stay with a friend for a little while. Call me when you get this, and if I don't answer, keep calling until I pick up."

The line beeped just after I finished, telling me that I was out of time. I sniffed again and called another three or four times, each time hanging up as soon as it switched over to the answering service, thinking that _maybe_ if he saw he had five missed calls from his sister, he'd get that it was important. I fell back against the seat, slipping the phone back in my tissue-filled front pocket, and after a while my head flopped over to look at the driver's side of the car.

Eric was behind the wheel, as expected, but a tiny Super Beetle is just not meant to be driven by the very tall, so his knees were jammed into the steering wheel, which he was maneuvering at arm's length, and his head was scrunched up into his chest in an effort to not bash it against the roof. I started to giggle and couldn't stop.

Just as suddenly, though, I was sobbing.

I was only peripherally aware of the rest of the journey, really only coming awake again after we stopped and Eric lifted me, snotty nose and all, out of the car and carried me into his house. There was a set of stairs that we climbed, and then he was laying me on a bed, pulling off my shoes before tucking me under the sheets. He was back to that uncharacteristically gentlemanly persona, refraining from joining me under the covers when he climbed onto the bed and sitting silently next to me until I passed out from exhaustion.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I woke in the dark, my eyes glued shut with the dried remnants of my tears and my only concept of the world a soft haven of down pillows, high thread-count sheets, and a mattress that happily gave way whenever I shifted. I also had no idea how I'd gotten there, given that I was most certainly not in the habit of sleeping in houses other than my own, where this bed definitely did not reside. As I worked my eyelashes free, trying to recall why I'd been sobbing in the first place, it all came back, a pit opening up in my gut: Gran, sprawled on the kitchen floor in a pool of her own blood; Grandpa Fintan, gore to the elbows and standing mournfully over her corpse; Andy Bellefleur, insinuating that me or Jason could possibly be responsible; Eric, getting me moving again when I couldn't get my head on straight - Eric, showing kindness and concern.

Forcing back the second round of tears, since they wouldn't help a damn thing and it felt better to focus Eric's motivations than the gaping hole in my soul which Gran had lately occupied, I sat up and swung my legs out of bed. With my eyes able to open, I could see dim outlines of furniture in the tiny amount of light that seemed to be sneaking under the door. Groping around on the nightstand, my fingers found a piece of paper (not helpful) and a lamp (helpful). The sudden illumination when I switched it on made my eyes hurt, but after a moment I was able to examine the paper, which I'd crumpled a little in my fumbling search.

It was a note, from my vampiric benefactor, scrawled on the back of a receipt for TrueBlood and indicating that he'd prefer it if I stayed until nightfall, but he would not keep me against my will. It also said that if I chose to leave, he would recommend not returning home until after four. I snorted, amused by the pitiful level of courtesy he'd extended, even while I was confused by the final statement. Probably anything more would have been too much of a strain, given the effort he'd made last night.

Moving from the bedroom to the rest of the house was a bit of a shock, since I hadn't been in a state to note the decor previously. The room I'd come from was bland, all whites and beiges, clearly not a room to which he felt particularly connected. In fact, the entire upper floor was much the same, like a model house or furniture showroom, and it felt less like I was invading in such an impersonal space. The living room downstairs, however, was completely different, and showed he liked his colors deep and vibrant.

I noticed the walls first, the sapphire hue fairly smacking me in the face, and I had a brief thought that they matched his eyes brilliantly. The furniture was made of heavy wood and had no particular theme aside from being durable and upholstered in jewel tones. It reminded me a little of Gran's house, actually, with its mismatched pieces added whenever the Stackhouses needed them. A single, rattling sob broke free at that thought, and I quickly moved into the adjacent room.

It was a library, and the smell of old books was enough to banish the grief, if only for a second. The walls, what little I could see of them, were a burnished orangey-red, like garnet, with the same brilliantly white crown moulding as ran around the living room. The majority of the perimeter, though, was covered in tall shelves filled with an eclectic mix of new and old, literary and otherwise. The shelf immediately to the left of the doorway was full of books on business, management, and finance, plus an assortment of self-help guides from the past fifty years. I was moderately curious about that last category, but not enough to go after an answer just yet, even if Eric had been immediately available for comment.

As I walked around the room, fingers trailing across the spines and my neck tilted at an awkward angle to read them, my eyes fetched up on an immense paperback volume, the picture on the spine of a dancing man in an _oni_ mask. The title, _**The **__**Tale **__**of **__**Genji**_, sounded vaguely familiar, so I pulled it from the shelf and flipped it open to read the flap copy, which mentioned that it was widely-regarded to be the world's first novel. The short description made it sound kind of like what I'd heard of _**One **__**Hundred **__**Years **__**of **__**Solitude**_, except about as old as Eric, so I tucked it under my arm, figuring at the very least it would distract me for a good long while.

My next stop was the kitchen, as my stomach had started making it known that it had Opinions about Things while I'd been perusing. I wasn't optimistic about the potential selection, but if there wasn't any food in the house I'd have to leave to get some. Given...other vampires' opinions on food, I wasn't surprised when the cupboards were bare and the little fridge had nothing in it but TrueBlood, LifeFlow, and a tall bottle of blend whose name I didn't recognize. I hit the jackpot, so to speak, with the freezer. It was sparse, yes, but the two frozen pizzas and handful of microwaveable appetizers were a start. I took out one of the pizzas, noticed that there was no oven to put it in, and traded it for a box of potato skins.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

"How are you finding it?"

I jumped, partly because the house had been silent all day (aside from the twenty minutes I'd spent on the phone with Jason, being alternately sobbed and yelled at), but also because I could swear that the chair Eric was in had been completely empty not a moment before. While I stared at him, willing my heart rate back down, he indicated the massive volume I'd balanced on the arm of the chair.

"It's alright. I think. It's kind of hard sort out the which antecedents go with which pronouns."

He nodded. "That's the problem with translating a text from a language that doesn't have pronouns to one that does."

"Oh. I didn't know that." I paused, scrunching up my face in disbelief. "Really? No pronouns?"

"Yes and no. They have them, but they don't use them the same way."

"Oh. Did you read this, when you were in Japan?"

"No, but I heard pieces of the broad story. I read the Waley translation when it was new, then found a copy of the original to compare. I find the Tyler translation," he pointed a finger, "to be superior in terms of preserving the style of the prose."

"Hm." I shut the book, marking my page with the cover flap, and set it aside. "Now that you're up, I have questions."

He smiled. "I would expect no less."

I nodded. "I'll start at the beginning."

"It is tradition."

"Also, I won't lose track." I opted, however, to skip the bits at the bar. For one, he'd already answered me, even if I didn't think he'd told me the whole truth, and for two because I might not have liked the whole truth. I didn't strive for ignorance, but I could see its uses. "How did you find my house? And don't tell me you finally read my résumé, because we both know that's not true."

"That document is not the only place your address is listed. Among other places, it's in the payroll files."

"Okay, fine, you have access to my address. And I suppose you used a satellite image to find the turnoff, since it's not the most visible driveway." He shrugged. "Alright, now tell me why you were there."

"I had business in Monroe, and I thought it prudent to stop by on the way back."

"But why? I gave you no reason to believe it was a vampire," I said, remembering his comment the night before, "and you had no reason to believe I'd still be there after that long."

He shrugged again. "In light of the current situation, caution is best."

Something about it still wasn't sitting right, and I took a moment to think it over. Once I had it all in order, I continued. "But you _did _know I was there. I don't think you saw me, even with your fancy eyesight, and the wind was all wrong for you to smell me, so how'd you know?" I realized that I was relying on his night-vision being ruined by lights like a human's, but I didn't think it was outside the realm of possibility.

"Your blood. Or rather," he answered, his face utterly impassive, "my blood in you."

"So you're saying that, what, you can ping me like a submarine?"

"Something like that, over short distances. The effect will fade with time."

"Great. So your blood heals me, and acts like a little Sookie LoJack. Anything else I should know?"

He shrugged.

I suspected he wasn't telling me anything because he wasn't sure. I'd heard stories about the underground vampire blood market, about people who went crazy and raped or killed others people, but more about the heightened senses and extra-stength libido. As best I could tell, though, all I'd gotten was an itchy scar and maybe the confidence to pull off last night's get-up, which I suppose I was technically still wearing under my sweatshirt. "I see."

He leaned forward slightly, steepling his hands in his lap. "Since you've brought up my sense of smell, I did catch an even more enchanting scent than yours last night, and I think you know exactly what it was."

Ah-oh. Time for me to play dumb. "I beg your pardon?"

He smiled knowingly. "I find it very interesting that there have been fairies skulking around my telepathic bartender's house."

"My, that is interesting. Fairies, you say? I had no idea they actually existed. Are they nice?"

"No," he said with finality, scowling, and it seemed to me that he was both answering my question and telling me to cut the crap. Problem was, I wasn't sure I could. Grandpa Fintan had said that Eric knew _his_ daddy, but I didn't really know the circumstances of their business dealings, and I didn't want to mess with things I didn't understand. On the other hand, he'd never actually told me not to tell Eric, and while he hadn't said outright that Eric was trustworthy, he'd called him honorable, which in certain circles was almost the same thing. Perhaps more importantly, I trusted Eric, at least until my well-being conflicted with his own or that of vampire-kind. Still...

I took a deep breath. "You know, I was supposed to be the one asking questions." I chuckled uneasily, then continued. "I know I can't realistically stop you from telling anyone this, much less your queen, but I'd prefer it didn't leave this room." He made no movement, which I took to be about as much acknowledgement as I was liable to get. "You caught me, I've got fairies in my family tree. One of my relatives just couldn't resist." I said a silent apology to Gran, since I knew the situation was a lot more complicated than I was making it seem.

"Ah." If I was him, I'd have a lot more questions, but to his credit, he didn't ask them. Of course, I didn't exactly leave an opening for it.

"Yes, ah. I trust that settles that?"

"For the time being."

"Good. Second question: why didn't you want me going back to my house right away?"

"Because the cleaners were there."

"What cleaners? You weren't even inside last night, how would you know whether or...not..." I trailed off, realizing what might need cleansing. "Don't the police take care of that?"

"No. Though perhaps their time would be better spent cleaning," he mused, idly. I wasn't sure what to make of that comment - I suspected it was related to the raid on Fangtasia and his somewhat tenuous relationship with law enforcement since then, but I couldn't be sure.

"Oh." The single syllable was tiny, practically inaudible to my human ears, but no doubt Eric's picked it up just fine. "You shouldn't have done that." Aside from the fact that I'd just managed to accrue a massive debt to vampire entirely by accident, it felt sort of wrong that I wasn't going to be doing this one last thing for Gran. It was too much to have to deal with that kind of guilt on top of my already tightly-coiled grief, plus worry about what kind of favor Eric was going to request in recompense.

I felt tears prickling at the corner of my eye and glared harder, clenching my jaw to keep it from shaking. Stupid, high-handed vampire.

"So the kitchen - " I had to take a couple of very deep breaths. "The kitchen is clean now?"

"Nearly. Bobby said they estimated completion between seven and seven-thirty."

"But your note said four. When did they start?"

"Early in the afternoon, but they were delayed by another crime scene. I understand it takes longer because they clean completely, not just to the appearance of cleanliness."

"Surgical theatre clean?"

"Probably. They certainly make sure to check for splatter behind the appliances, where it could start to rot unnoticed and fill the room with unfortunate odors."

"That's good, then, I suppose."

After a long silence, during which Eric settled into downtime, I continued, lapsing again into the barely-vocalized range. "I still don't understand, though. I get that that you're doing all this to help, but I can't figure out what you stand to gain, aside from gratitude."

"Must I get something from it?"

"It's your nature to have ulterior motives."

"Perhaps."

"There's no 'perhaps' about it. Why were you so nice last night, Eric?"

"I take care of all of my employees. That's why Fangtasia has a group health plan."

"You are such a bullshitter." There was a niggling feeling in the back of my head that I might be pushing too hard, and another one saying I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. I ignored them, because with so much of my life up in the air, I needed to know, and some lame explanation referring a health insurance policy wasn't going to cut the mustard. "I'm not in the mood for any more games and evasions. Just tell me."

He frowned, hard. I averted my eyes slightly, just in case eye contact and particularly determined thoughts had been the key to hearing him the last time. I was walking on thin ice with just that one incident, and I really didn't want to up the chances I'd be caught by repeating it. If I hadn't been staring at his temple instead, I probably would have missed it. I blinked, and he twitched again. Just a slight tic at the corner of the eye, but like any good poker player, I knew what it meant.

Eric was uncomfortable.

I decided not to push it, on the basis that I had plenty on my plate already. "Never mind, Eric. I retract the question."

He didn't really react except to relax slightly, the twitch disappearing entirely. I could make an educated guess what was bugging him, but since the field of vampire psychology was nonexistent, I wouldn't trust any conclusions I made. Leaving him to it would probably only help me, anyway, in terms of the favors he wouldn't give me a straight answer about.

I stood and took the few steps to cross the space between us, then leaned down to kiss his cheek. It was cool, as expected, and there was the dry, pleasant scent that I'd found was characteristic of vampires. I'd more than half-expected him to turn into the kiss, to try and catch my lips on his own, but he remained perfectly still. I pulled away.

"Thank you. I need to..." I fluttered my hand vaguely at the upper portion of the house, not really sure myself what I needed to do. He made no indication that he'd heard, so I moved away. Halfway across the living room, I heard him calling to me.

"Does wanting to have sex with you not count as motivation?"

I kept walking.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I heard him coming up the stairs, mumbling something into his phone. I could hear the tinny cadence of the other end of the conversation, which I thought might be related to the blood I'd ingested, as it was not normally in my repertoire. Nonetheless, I stayed where I was, sitting cross-legged on the bed with my eyes shut.

He pushed the door open (vampires are not big on knocking) and stepped inside, snapping his phone shut as he did so.

"Sookie my sweet, I am needed immediately at Fangtasia." I remained as I was, waiting for him to get to the point. "Unfortunately, this means I won't be able to personally see you home, but if you come with me, I can make sure someone does. Pam, perhaps."

I opened my eyes. "The house is clean?" He nodded, and I considered my options. I'd remembered while I'd been sitting up here that I still needed to talk to the police, but appearing in slept-in attire from work last night didn't strike me as a ton of fun. With the house clean and empty of strangers, I could go home and change, but I wasn't feeling up to that quite yet. "I can drive myself, but could I come along for a tiny bit anyway? I think I have a spare set of clothes there." And if I didn't, Pam could probably find me something. I wouldn't even have to go into the club proper, which would cut down on the nastiness I heard.

Eric studiously didn't comment on my bedraggled appearance. "Certainly. We can take your car, but we should leave soon."

I glanced down at myself, then down to the floor and my shoes. "I can deal with that. Two minutes."

"I will be in the garage," he said, then disappeared in a blurry poof of air.

It amused me that he would assume my memory of our passage through the house last night would be sufficient to remember where the garage was. I started pulling on my shoes. Lucky for him, I'd found it while I'd been waiting for my lunch-of-sides to heat.

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><p>Okay ducks, here's the haps. When I started posting this story, I had many chapters of buffer, and managed to write another chapter roughly every week. However, I haven't actually finished a new one since I posted Ch.5, so my buffer is all but depleted. As such, we are now likely to enter a cycle of bi-weekly updates while I try to rebuild that buffer a wee bit. Good news is that we're more than half-done as of this moment, and I've got a good bit of the most climactic scenes already written, so this could be a temporary measure. I endeavor to tweet as far out as I know when there are changes in update schedule, so that's always a good place to start if you're wondering.<p>

TL;DR version: Assume bi-weekly updates until further notice, check twitter if you're in doubt.

_Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind._


	11. In Which Good Work Is Rewarded

Hullo there! Sorry about not having this up last night - there were decisions on which I was procrastinating by reading, so I got a little behind in my edits. Anyway, it's here now. Also, PMR rocks (as usual).

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><p>When we'd arrived at Fangtasia, an unfamiliar black sedan had been in the lot. I took a closer look as I drove by and recognized Jaguar's leaping-cat emblem on the hood. So, a high-status visitor. I should've expected more trouble, but my grief-addled brain failed to come up with it.<p>

Eric went straight to his office and I followed automatically, his purposeful stride pulling me along while my mind was elsewhere. I stopped before I actually followed him inside, having remembered why I'd come, and turned back down the hall. Before the door swung all the way shut, though, I caught a glimpse of someone I'd hoped never to see again, and my heart jumped into my throat. Without meaning to, I found myself bolting into the store room, slamming the door behind me, clicking the lock over, and scurrying behind a stack of liquor boxes as far from the door as I could get.

_What people failed to understand about Bourbon Street was that it was a riot of color and activity all year, and the annual Mardi Gras pilgrimages just made it more over-the-top. It was the cultural center of New Orleans, from Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop to Galatoire's, the Barely Legal Club to the Bourbon Pub. It was, as such, an excellent place to work as a bartender, if not terribly convenient to school. Of course, having a bicycle made the distance much more manageable, as did having an apartment halfway between Tulane and the French Quarter._

_When I had free time (which wasn't often, admittedly), I liked to wander the Vieux Carré, watching people and looking at all the beautiful houses. I didn't do it at night that often, since mostly I was working or studying, but every once in a while I'd come down and see it all lit up without the jaded eyes of a service-industry worker. It was relaxing, in a way, to remember that not everything down here was mumbling drunks and boistrous frat boys._

_"Sookie, is that you? Sookie! My God, it has been forever!"_

_Or at least, it had been._

_The voice sounded familiar, that sort of niggling at the back of the head when you used to know someone really well but had fallen out of touch. I did a mental sweep and came up with a void - vampire. It didn't sound like any of the vampires who frequented the bar, so I turned slowly, my expression going to puzzled._

_"Hadley?" I almost didn't recognize her. She looked barely older than she had just before she disappeared, and a lot paler. How long had she been a vampire? Fewer than five years, if I had to guess, since Gran had gotten a letter begging for rehab money about the time I graduated high school._

_"Sure is! How long's it been, seven, eight years?"_

_"Ten, but who's counting?" I was, obviously. My cousin dismissed them all with a wave._

_"Psh. Look at you, all grown up." 'All grown up,' my foot - she was only four years older than me, and I'd started filling out early. Clearly I looked similar enough to myself at thirteen that she could recognize me from behind and across the street. "What're you doing down here?" The tone of the question suggested something was weird, almost like she was demanding an explanation rather than catching up._

_"Going to school, over at Tulane. I'm about halfway through this 4 + 1 program they have to get a Master's in Psychology. Gran's been worried sick about you for years - have you been living in the city this whole time?"_

_She laughed, and it was almost the laugh I remembered: cheerful, but with a slight edge, a hint of pain. "Well, not the whole time, but for the past few years, yeah. Just a few blocks thataway."_

_'A few blocks thataway' was still firmly within the French Quarter, or at the most just outside it. Compared to my little apartment in Central City, my cousin was living it up. Hell, next to most places short of the Garden District, she was in the lap of luxury. I smiled awkwardly, trying to keep my expression more thrilled than shocked. "Oh, wow, Had. That sounds great. I'm a bit north of Bolivar, over on the other side of 90."_

_She frowned a little bit. "Really? Not over by the university?"_

_"I was there last year, but I'm working on Bourbon these days, so it makes more sense to be halfway between the two, you know?"_

_"Oh, right. So how are you liking the city?"_

_"It's fine. I miss home, though, and Gran. I keep having to call Jason to make sure he's helping her out in between chasing pretty girls. Sometimes I feel real guilty, leaving her up there with just him to check in on her, you know?"_

_She quirked her head suddenly, as though she was silently listening to something, and started talking with no sign she'd heard any of my last sentence. "Look, I've gotta run. I wish I had more time to catch up - I wanna hear all about Gran, an' good ol' Bon Temps..." She was biting her lip, trying to figure something out._

_"Well, you could stop by sometime while I'm working. I tend bar, so I generally have some time to chat."_

_"That's a great idea!" she said, her face lighting up again. "Where do you work?"_

_"The Faucheux Pub. It's technically on Orleans Street, just around the corner from Fritzel's."_

_"I think I know where that is. Are you normally there on Sundays? I'm pretty busy most nights, but I get Sundays off most of the time."_

_"Uh, sometimes. If I am, it's generally the late afternoon/early evening shift."_

_"I'll swing by and we'll see, alright?" She started to turn, then swung her face back around, holding up a finger to show that she'd remembered something important. "Oh, and Sook? Next time you see Bill Compton, tell him I said 'hi'."_

_I spluttered. "Wait just a moment, Had. I'm not surprised you know Bill, but how do you know I'm dating him?" We'd only been together for a couple for a week, tops, and I hadn't been aware he'd been spreading it around._

_"Oh, you are? That's great! Sophie-Anne'll be so pleased to hear. Bye, now!" She waved again, then was off in a rush, moving at that fast-glide vampires make look so easy. I was left standing on the sidewalk, my brain busy short-circuiting._

There were places I needed to be. My skin was crawling under more than a day's dirt and sweat, not to mention tape residue, and I desperately needed to change my clothes. I needed to get back to Bon Temps and talk to the police, who were no doubt wondering why it was taking me so long to come back and sign a statement. They might even take it as an admission of guilt, even though I clearly wasn't capable of doing that to my Gran. Andy Bellefleur would think of an explanation if it suited him - I'd seen that last night. There were so many things that needed doing, none of which were in storage with me, but I couldn't stir myself, not if there was the possibility that _he_ could see me if I left.

Eventually, I managed to inch out from behind the boxes and grab the clipboard with inventory sheets off the nail by the door, forcing myself to unlock it while I was there. If I couldn't talk myself into just leaving, I would make myself useful. My mind was in Eric's office, though, so I wasn't particularly efficient, especially not with jittery hands and strung-out nerves. Every time I heard steps in the hallway, I jumped and threw myself behind the nearest shelf, checking it out with my sixth sense only after I was 'safe' to make sure whoever it was hadn't been sent to find me (since the vampires themselves hadn't moved). I wasn't even sure why I was so tense, considering none of the suspicions Hadley had aroused had ever been confirmed, but I suppose paranoia was enough.

_"The usual, Rasul?"_

_"Yes, please. And may I say, you look as enchanting as ever."_

_I smiled. "You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl." I handed him his warmed LifeSupport and started to step away as he took a sip. I stopped, though, as a thought occurred to me. "You work for, uh, Ms. LeClerc, right?" I hesitated to call her the queen in public, since it wasn't common knowledge and the vampires liked it that way. He nodded._

_"Have you seen Bill Compton this evening?" I rushed to clarify before he could interrupt me, "See, I tried calling him earlier and he didn't answer, so I figure his battery's just gone dead, but I can't help but worry that he's lying in a ditch somewhere, since he's normally very good about answering early in the evening."_

_"Ah. No, I don't think I have, but he's around the office often, so I may later tonight. Do you need a message conveyed?"_

_I shook my head firmly. "Oh, no, it's nothing important. I just spend too much time around worriers, and it tends to rub off. Thank you, though."_

Eventually, the three voids in the office started moving. Two of them went directly to the rear exit, and I went back to my corner as they passed. The third started wandering away into the club proper, paused, then turned back down the hall, stopping at every room. I wanted, even _needed_, it to be Eric, but my lizard-brain was convinced that it was Andre, who'd ordered Pam and Eric out with the queen's authority and was coming to fetch me himself.

If I was honest with myself, I was scared of Andre more than I was of working for the queen - clearly, I didn't have a problem with working for vampires. The problem lay in being coerced to do the work, and the little I'd seen and heard of Andre suggested that he would be very much in favor of coercion. No matter how reasonable I'd heard Sophie-Anne LeClerc was, Andre was her right hand, and he was just flat-out creepy. Most people, even those not particularly good at spotting vampires, instinctively shied away from him, and Rasul had once told me that sane vamps learned quickly to stay well away from him. Between that and his gaze, which was so cold it made my skin crawl, I knew that anything he had planned for me was something in which I wanted no part.

The door swung open, and I pressed myself closer to the wall, breathing as slowly and quietly as I could manage, trying to calm my heart (a futile effort, since the unseen vampire in the doorway would hear it regardless). As the vampire moved into the room, though, I relaxed, just a little bit. I knew those footfalls, that cadence.

He was walking sedately, so I knew exactly where he was as he wove around the shelves to get to me, and so when his head popped into the canyon of liquor boxes where I was hiding, I wasn't at all surprised. Sheepish and a little embarrassed, yes, but not surprised.

"Is it politically relevant for me to know why you are hiding from Andre?" That surprised me - not 'why are you hiding,' but rather, 'do I need to know why you're hiding.' It caught me off guard, so instead of responding with my prepared statement (I don't want to talk about it), I paused to consider my answer.

"If I had to guess, yes."

"Then I'm sure you'll tell me." He stepped back and gestured toward the door. "Perhaps somewhere slightly warmer." I guess I was shivering. "And with chairs."

I hoisted myself off the floor, nodding in grudging agreement as I went, and preceded him out the door and down the hall to his office. It was eerily like the day I'd revealed my telepathy (had it only been three weeks?), except this time I wasn't anticipating being killed. I was no less jittery, though, so my posture was just as rigid. Eric, across the desk, looked - if anything - more relaxed than last time, but no less interested. I laughed uneasily.

"This is beginning to feel like a habit. You over there, me over here, spilling my secrets."

"Not _all_ your secrets." He was digging. I laughed again, with a little more confidence.

"No, not all of them. Where's the fun in life, without the mystery?"

He acknowledged my point with a slight bob of the head. "True. You, in particular, are a delectable mystery that I enjoy unraveling." It was impressive, really, how easily he shifted the subject from something mundane to something sexual. It was in the voice, I was sure, which was always toeing the line anyway. I countered with a joke.

"I'd be considerably less mysterious if you'd just read my résumé already." He laughed and waved his eyebrows at me, and I relaxed a little in my chair, shifting so I was leaning against the back instead of perching on the edge.

I went quiet then, for several minutes, while I worked out how to frame it. There were a lot of details he didn't need to know, like how relaxing it had been to be around Bill or how much of a teenager I'd been about him, but there were some things that would probably help to keep him thinking of me as an independent-thinking asset, rather than as a servant, and with everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, I was keen to maintain that delineation. Eric respected the silence, watching me pensively while relaxing in his executive chair. It was very much the psychologist's 'in your own time' approach, and I smiled slightly at the thought that he was turning my own tricks back on me.

Eventually, I worked out what I wanted to say. "A couple of years ago, the queen made an attempt to acquire me, and given that you guys can afford to play the long game, I very much doubt she's given up. I mean," I continued, feeling a need to justify my accusation, "there are vampires everywhere in New Orleans, but there was this moment when it seemed like someone flipped a switch and they all decided that they wanted to get all chummy. The first six months I was at Faucheux - which was pretty popular with the fanged crowd - I learned two vampires' names, but by the end, they were all introducing themselves. Not that I noticed until after I started dating a vampire , so who _knows_how long they were watching me. Anyway, I never actually confirmed it, but the evidence was pretty damning, so I ran."

"You...ran."

I shrugged. "In a manner of speaking. I changed jobs, relocated to minimize after-dark travel time, picked up a couple of roommates, bought myself more silver jewelry, and generally avoided you guys as much as I could." The corner of my mouth quirked up, and I continued. "I may not have the means or impetus to disappear, but I can make myself more inaccessible."

"So it would seem. Tell me about this vampire you were dating," he said casually, his eyes making it clear that it was not a request.

"His name is Bill Compton."

"Very well. Tell me about Bill Compton."

_I liked Bill. I really, really, did. He was charming, attentive...everything a girl could want in a Southern gentleman. He was pretty easy on the eyes, too: dark hair and eyes, an aristocratic nose, a farmer's broad shoulders, and tall enough to fit smoothly against his side without being so tall that I got a crick in my neck looking at him. For all his very fine attributes, though, there was something about him that bothered me, and I just couldn't put my finger on it._

_It probably had to do with what Hadley'd said. The whole conversation had put me on edge, but the way she ended it still set my head spinning days later. Now, I was scrutinizing everything he did, even though I had no idea what the point of the scrutiny was; the only thing I'd found was that Bill had a sort of hot-and-cold attitude to our relationship which seemed odd, given the other men I'd known. Granted, all of those men had been human, so I knew exactly what was on their minds at a given moment, even if I didn't want to. Bill hadn't been human since shortly after the Civil War, though, so I could hardly use the marks set by all my previous (awful) dating experiences to gauge his behavior._

_But tonight had had me excited about our prospects. I'd been invited to his apartment for activities unspecified, so I figured he'd gotten over whatever reason had him putting on the brakes during our previous encounters. I mean, seriously, my first movie date with a guy I could stand to touch indefinitely and he objects to necking in the back row? If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought he was gay, but he'd been plenty enthusiastic at other times, so mostly it just felt like he was giving me whiplash._

_As soon as I arrived, however, I discovered that the Bill Compton Parade of Mixed Signals was still going strong. He'd let me in, given me a kiss (on the cheek), and disappeared into what I assume was a home office to "finish some work," leaving me to cool my heels in the living room. There wasn't much to look at, the only wall-covering being a large television and its accompanying entertainment center, so I made my way to the shelf of CDs sitting innocuously next to it. There was a lot of Kenny G, and what wasn't Kenny G seemed pretty similar in tone, based on the cover art. The only other names I recognized were David Sanborn and Chris Spheeris, who were both pretty low-key. Which was weird, given that zydeco was decidedly not, and that's what he'd said had drawn him into the bar the night we met._

_Not for the first time, I thought that I probably would have been much happier if my cousin hadn't called out to me._

"Not much to tell, really." Not to him, at least. "He was the first vampire to show interest in me beyond my ability to satisfy immediate wants and needs, so there was a certain novelty factor there. Plus, with his mind so still, it was kind of too good an opportunity to pass up. After a while I started noticing all the coincidences, and on top of the abrupt change in attitude at the bar and this really weird interaction in the checkout line at the grocery store, it was a bit too much. Even without the blond kid."

"Blond kid?"

"Yeah. He kept popping up in weird places and watching us - me and Bill. Well, me, since he showed up a couple times when I was going to or from work."

"This was Andre?"

"Yeah. I pointed him out to one of the regulars, and he told me who he was."

"And who was that?"

"Like I'd tell you," I scoffed. "He was probably doing his own intelligence-gathering, but that doesn't mean I'm going to sell him out. I know who you report to."

He dropped it without a word, but I had no delusions that if Eric really wanted me to tell him, he would find a way to make me. Have you seen this Bill since?"

"Once or twice, from a distance." I shrugged. "I kept away from anywhere we'd ever been, at night at least, and made a point of not telling anyone where I was going. He might have known where I lived, though, and stayed away."

At that point, Eric seemed to run out of questions. He leaned back in his chair, letting it spin away slightly, and went very still while he thought. I, on the other hand, was a fidgety ball of nerves, and the silence made it worse. If Andre wasn't here for me, as seemed increasingly likely to be the case, why had he come? Now that he'd caught my scent (as he surely had), would the queen be coming after me? Had she known where I was this entire time? Why was I being so self-centered when my Gran had died not twenty-four hours previous and I'd barely spoken to my brother, much less started planning her funeral?

I nearly broke down at that question, which had been delivered at a near-scream from the far reaches of my mind, the part I'd walled off temporarily so I could get through whatever mess this was. That stress, which I'd been pointedly ignoring, was probably why I'd freaked out so much when I'd spotted Andre. I was normally possessed of a much cooler head - after all, I'd been staked only a few days prior and had stayed remarkably collected throughout the whole business. But one glimpse of one vampire who may or may not have once had nefarious plans for me and I went running for the hills.

"For the record," he said without warning, "Andre knew you were here. He has, in fact, known for over a week, because the queen needed to know who she was sending to Mexico."

I bit back an expletive, since it would do a fat lot of good now. Clearly, Eric had known the entire time why I was hiding from Andre, or at least suspected, and had only asked to find out what _I_ knew, the sneaky bastard. Just as clearly, I needed to use the next few days to get my head on straight, because if I kept missing obvious things like that, I was a sitting duck in this world.

I glanced up at Eric, who was still deep in thought - I could practically see the hamster running itself to exhaustion in its wheel. There was no telling what he was thinking about, whether it was my story, or the reason for Andre's visit, or even the health of the Hong Kong stock market. It probably wasn't my business.

Andre wasn't really my business, either, not if he wasn't making me his, but I was still quite curious as to his visit. Since the queen knew that Eric had been hexed, and that he'd put a stop to the operation, it stood to reason that Andre would know, too. To hear Rasul tell it, Andre and the queen were rarely separated, so the fact that she'd sent him meant one of two things: she was in town or she had some very serious business for Eric. The second seemed more likely, since she was known in New Orleans as a prominent businesswoman and was no doubt too busy to make the twelve-hour round trip for any but the most critical matters.

It could be that Andre came with some Sheriff business, regarding tithes or immigration or whatever it was Eric actually handled for the queendom, but if it was something that mundane, any old envoy would do, if not a simple phone call. In fact, the presence of any envoy at all meant whatever the business was, it was both important and sensitive. Given that and the recent activities of Area Five's elite, there was only one conclusion.

"Andre was here about the synthetic, wasn't he? Did we miss something, or is it more of a Hydra situation?"

Eric blinked once and swiveled back to me, his fingers steepled in front of his face. "Hydra situation?"

"You know, the mythological snake/dragon thing? Cut off one head, two more grow from the stump?"

"How apt." He barely moved, staring at me with calculating eyes.

"And the reward for a job well done is another, harder job."

"True." He was giving away only the barest modicum of data, but I was willing to wait. I assumed he'd let me know if I needed to be watching for something to do with the synthetic. "You are a very unusual human...so eager to help, despite having no love for death."

"I haven't actually volunteered to do anything yet. And if you'll recall, it was not my decision to go to Mexico." I decided ignore his insinuation that not being a vampire groupie made me weird.

"You could have declined. I would not have recommended it, but it was an option."

"Was there a point to rubbing that in my face?" He gazed at me, impassive. I frowned back at him, getting the impression that he was asking a question without actually framing one. "Are you looking for an explanation for the stuff I did so you'd be less insane?" Still nothing. I puffed up my cheeks and blew the air back out again in frustration. "I could refuse to say until you actually ask, but we'd be here all night and I still need to change clothes and go home. So fine, here it is: getting you un-loopy was the right thing to do, so I did what I could."

"Elaborate." He barely stirred to vocalize those four syllables.

"You're impossible. Is it so hard to believe that humans don't act like vampires? That we're not always out to press an advantage over the next guy?" I didn't need this. I didn't need anything, except a change of clothes, and a shower, and to be left alone for a couple of days. But no.

"Yes. Because you are. I have made a study of humanity, Sookie, and I know that you're just as interested in what you have to gain as we are." I guess I knew what he was doing with all those self-help books, then.

"Bull pucky. We may do things where we stand to gain admiration or that buoyant feeling of having helped someone out, but that's not necessarily _why_ we do them. Of course there are kickbacks to helping you! For one, if this place goes under because you attracted the wrong kind of attention, I'm out of a job. For another, I like solving problems. But that's not _why_ I helped. I pulled together my resources because I was raised to help people in need, and with you acting all crazy, you and Pam needed all the help you could get."

"Perhaps you're right. Those are very un-vampiric qualities."

"Damn straight. Now are you going to ask me to help with this new thing or not?"

He looked surprised. "You don't want to know what it is?"

"Of course I do. I assume you're after my motivations because you want my help, and I'll give it to you - within reason - but I'm not doing a thing until I know what we're up against."

For the first time since I'd started telling him about New Orleans, he smiled. "Excellent. There is elf blood in the LifeFlow."

I leaned forward. "Tell me more."

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><p><em>Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind.<em>


	12. In Which There Is A Chance Encounter

Happy release-week everyone! I totally forgot that Deadlocked was coming out until about two days before the fact (I'm not a rush-out-and-buy-ASASP* type), so I'm quite lucky that PMR was able to pry herself away from the new material for a bit and give this a look-through. Chapter's a little on the shorter side, so I won't drag you away from the new book for long.

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><p>Apparently word had got around about our assault in Mexico, and when the instances of vampires wandering around in a sort of drunken daze (the apparent effect of ingesting elf's blood) had spiked, several of the regional monarchs had had a teleconference and nominated Eric to deal with it. The problem was that our tactics from before wouldn't work - elf blood is not a spell and no one kept any on hand with which the witches could resonate the drop or two in each affected bottle, so the only way to find it was to drink it and wait for a reaction. Since vampires weren't real big on using themselves as guinea pigs and the potential PR repercussions were enormous, we were at a dead end there.<p>

In a few cases, quick-thinking observers had managed to save the bottles, so we did have samples to send to New Orleans for testing, but that went about as well as expected. All we'd managed to learn was that the blood was coming from multiple elves (possibly several "donors" all mixed together), but that the residue was too dilute and too small of a sample to track the progenitors accurately, assuming they were even still alive. To be honest, though, even if we had gotten a sample big enough, I didn't expect we'd get any farther than maybe finding a few gates to Faery.

That left us relying on legwork - tracking the bottles' point of origin codes to the factories, mapping out known incidents and looking for clusters, and sending Pam all over the country to interview the witnesses (the vampires, that is - it was sadly taken as read that any humans unfortunate enough to be witnesses were no longer capable of providing testimony). All of that got us was tired brains and (in Pam's case) a heaping pile of frequent flier miles.

The unfortunate problem with LifeFlow was that it was much less niche than Equis Rojos - there were about the same number of factories, but they were much larger. The miles of conveyor belt alone allowed for an unfathomable number of potential introduction sites, both right along the line and anywhere in the catwalks directly above it. Multiply that by the number of factory workers with access to those areas and the altogether sparse distribution of security cameras...well, it wasn't difficult to see that we weren't likely to get anywhere with that approach. Nonetheless, Eric had had Pam bring back weeks of footage from each factory and had directed the vampires in his area (especially troublemakers like Luka) to take shifts watching it, when they weren't working the floor at Fangtasia, and looking for discrepancies. To my knowledge, they hadn't found anything useful.

Timelines were also an issue. The effects of the Equis Rojos contamination had been easy to track, since consumption was relatively low and visibility was high. With the LifeFlow, however, bar owners had huge stocks, which were used more in accordance with whichever case was grabbed first, rather than which one had been around longest, so as Pam conducted her investigation, she found that several of the cases from which the relevant bottles had come had been shipped well before our trip to Mexico, but others had been bottled mere days before consumption. Furthermore, we didn't actually know if the surge in cases came after Mexico - it could be that this had been a problem for months and no one had taken note until recently.

In essence, it all added up to a big bag of jack. We were, as Pam eloquently put it upon one return, "completely fucked."

~~~ИΞEN~~~

For me, the days immediately following Andre's visit were spent preparing for and holding Gran's funeral. I'd reminded Eric as I left that night that I was taking a couple of evenings off, because I wasn't in a state to tend bar, but that I'd put my mind to the new problem when I wasn't busy with other things. God knows, I'd needed the distraction.

Jason and I got in a bit of a tussle the day of the funeral (which, happily, was sunny and clear, even if it was winter) because evidently Gran had told him at some point that she had left the farmhouse to me in her will. The announcement, and the uncharacteristic rage he directed at me over the perceived slight, was a complete shock. Normally I'd have ripped into him right back (after all, he'd been living in our parents' house for years, and I'd happily turn over my half of that property to make things even), but between feeling that it wasn't the place for it and already being stressed, it was just easier to walk away. I knew what the problem was - how could I not, after two degrees - but I didn't have the energy to analyze my brother. I was grateful when I heard Sam talking Jason down while I walked away, and even more grateful when I emerged from my room an hour later and the only thing he had to say was that he would call Gran's brother, Bartlett; since I'd been dodging questions about the man all day, it was acceptable as a peace offering.

It had been hard, at first, not to sit there and stew over Jason's accusations, but eventually I managed to distract myself. There wasn't anything I could do from my bedroom to hunt down the originator of this new form of contamination, so I approached it from the other direction and tried to narrow down the list of suspects. First, I was able to conclude fairly decisively that the attacks, such as they were, were not corporate espionage - Equis Rojos and LifeFlow were owned by separate beverage giants, so at the very least it wasn't an act of sabotage against one company. I couldn't technically rule out one company going after all the rest, but the odds suggested that it was safe to assume that vampires were the targets.

So, working from that premise and the fact that these operations were too elaborate and widespread to feasibly be the work of an individual, I could narrow it down to anti-vampire groups. I still didn't favor the Fellowship, not because they weren't tricky, but because the effects weren't extreme enough. However, the elf blood almost made them more plausible, because if the effects were explained as mimicking drunkenness they might go for it under the assumption that drunk vampires who lacked inhibitions would act on their monstrous impulses. If I looked at it that way, I could almost convince myself that the Equis Rojos _geas_ was their fault, too, and they were the victims of poor communication. I wouldn't put it past them to use magic-users, since they might not appear as inhuman as a vampire, but I couldn't believe they knew about the fae, much less how to capture or kill them, so on the off-chance they were responsible, they were very likely being manipulated.

Even if I'd talked myself into the plausible involvement of the Fellowship of the Sun, there were too many qualifiers for me to be comfortable. The theory I'd off-handedly presented to Eric in the airplane, just before I fell asleep, still seemed to make the most sense. After all, while this certainly damaged the vampires' reputation and exposed a lot of traits they didn't want publicly known (Eric's show with the tourists on the truss came to mind), it hadn't really turned public opinion any more against them than before. For such a complicated operation with an otherwise skilled execution, whoever was behind this was doing a terrible job accomplishing the obvious goal.

I ran the facts over and over during that hour, even pulling out a pen and paper to see if it made more sense if I wrote it all down, but it still wasn't adding up. There was only one conclusion: we were missing something.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

A day after we put Gran to rest, I went to back to work. I couldn't really afford to miss any more than the couple days I already had for the funeral, so while I wasn't feeling completely up to the task, I loaded myself into my little Beetle and got going, making a quick stop at the Grabbit-Kwik for gas before heading out of town. I don't normally spend my time at the pump peering into other people's heads, but I caught a stray thought (probably from Maudette Pickens in the convenience store) about a vampire and did a quick sweep. Call me paranoid, but I wanted to make sure nothing untoward was up. As it turned out, it was a damn good thing I turned around to have a look at the guy.

He was young, and not just in the face like most vampires - there was this distinct air of youth about him. It could have been the skinny jeans, flannel, and saggy wool cap, none of which were particular common fashion choices among the vampires I saw often, but I think it was probably his choice of synthetic that clued me in, since most vampires old enough to have amassed some funds (no doubt in part from robbing their meals) avoided Red Stuff whenever they could. This one, though...not only had he just purchased a sixpack of the it, he looked to be cracking his second bottle as he crossed the lot. I mentally adjusted his age to 'pretty newly dead' and started to turn back to my (now full) car.

Out of nowhere, the wind kicked up, and I heard a startled expletive from behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of color that hadn't been there before and spun just in time to see the last bits of smoke dissipating around a man who'd materialized in front of the baby vampire.

He certainly cut an interesting figure, but I wasn't sure that an orange Dick Tracy-style trench coat and fedora combination was the best choice, even with the dapper suit he was wearing underneath. As I stood there, blinking daftly at him from behind my car, he addressed the vampire. They were at least twenty feet away, but through some trick of acoustics I was able to hear everything they said.

"Good evening, vampire. I am the genie of the bottle, and you, you lucky stiff, are now granted three wishes." His tone was jolly, but there was an edge that made me nervous.

"Really?" Definitely a baby. Any vampire even a few years old had learned to be suspicious when the deal sounds too good.

"Really. Your first wish?"

His fangs had run down in his excitement, so his response was a little harder to make out, but I still managed to parse it. "I wish I never had to buy blood again!" My breath caught, and I said a quick prayer that this genie wasn't the vindictive kind that made 'be careful what you wish for' a personal mantra.

The man in orange flashed a wicked grin. "As you wish, so it shall be." In the blink of an eye, a stake had appeared in his hand and he was driving it through the vampire's chest so hard it came out the other side. The poor thing had just enough time to look down and notice what had happened before his last meal exploded out of his mouth. It was pretty quick, after that, almost neat in the way he imploded into a little pile of black gunk, compressing months or even years of decomposition into only a few minutes. I'd never seen a vampire die like that before, and as I stood there, staring in utter bafflement, the genie turned to look at me. He didn't say anything, just pinned me with eyes an even more luminous orange than his coat, and winked.

I blinked and he was gone, leaving nothing but a sooty black stain and a sixpack of broken bottles to show that either of them had even been there.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

It was incredibly fortunate that the various law enforcement agencies weren't out on my way to Fangtasia, because it felt like I was setting a new land-speed record on that trip. The sense of urgency persisted when I arrived, scooping up the remains of the six-pack and the old towel I'd put it on from the passenger seat and hurrying into the building, straight for Eric's office.

"Eric, we have a problem, and boy is this one -" I cut myself off, finally noticing that there was a third person in the room. "Hi, Rasul. It's, uh, been a while." I smiled nervously, all but forgetting my bundle.

"Good evening, Sookie. I am pleased to be able to say that my memory has not done you justice, and that you are indeed more lovely than I had recalled." His eyes flashed in that way they sometimes did, taking on a sort of red tone that I hadn't really observed in any other vampires.

"Oh, well thank you. You're looking well, too. Still working at the palace?"

"Yes. You have been missed at the bar. Did you know that your friend Charles Twining works there now?"

"No, I did not, but I haven't really kept in touch."

"Well, then, I suppose I shall not be wounded that I have not heard a peep from you in more than three years." He pouted slightly, as charming in that as he was in everything. I wondered briefly if it was a persona he put on, or if he was just naturally that affable; given that he was a vampire, I suspected the former. Happily, I'd never had cause to see any other side, which left me with at least one pleasant vampire friend who didn't use me for personal gain.

Eric had been watching our exchange with quiet amusement, waiting for us to wind down. "You were saying something, Sookie?"

"Oh. Yes." I set the six-pack bundle on the corner of his desk and moved the towel around so he could clearly see what I'd been carrying. "I picked this up at the Grabbit-Kwik, after I watched a baby vampire get staked by a disappearing man who called himself a genie."

"How interesting. Describe the vampire."

"Well, like I said, he was really young, or at least he acted it. Not old enough to keep his expression locked down, I guess. He was tallish, maybe five-ten or eleven, dark hair with a little bit of curl to it, and dressed like a hipster."

"And this was in Bon Temps?"

"Yes."

"Hm. A transient, I think. I'll check the records. Continue - tell me everything that happened." I described the situation matter-of-factly, wondering at the same time if Eric's oddly imperious tone was for the other vampire's benefit. When I finished, he leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtful for a moment. Rasul, who had listened to my story with interest, turned back to Eric to regard him with a cocked eyebrow. There was some subtle gesturing with hands and infinitesimal facial movements while they communicated silently, then Rasul shifted in his chair again and started talking.

"I am sure you are wondering what cause I have to be here in Shreveport." I shrugged, refusing to commit to any particular emotion. Old friend or not, he worked for the queen, and if he was here, it was on her orders. After a few breaths of silence, he continued, clearly unsatisfied with my lack of response but willing to overlook it. "Sophie-Anne instructed me to inquire after the investigation -"

"And the phone doesn't work?" I interrupted. The possibility of being dragged somewhere I didn't want to go by someone I considered a friend was making me tetchy. Rasul frowned slightly.

"I'm sure it does. Nonetheless."

"No doubt Eric's told you that we're not making much progress."

"Oh, but you are. Perhaps not positive progress, but intelligence-gathering is certainly progress."

I waved a hand, realizing a beat later that I'd picked it up from Pam. Clearly we were spending too much time together. "All of that she could've gotten over the phone. Last time she sent an emissary, she had a new job."

The Middle Eastern vampire smiled, and if this time it seemed like there was an edge, I couldn't say what gave me the impression. "How very perceptive. Would you like to tell her, Sheriff?"

"Certainly." Eric's gaze was piercing, but pleased. I wondered what part of that exchange had tripped his trigger, but I wouldn't have been surprised if it was something akin to how I would feel if I came home to find the cat had learned to wash and fold laundry, instead of just sleeping in it. Not that I had a cat at the moment, but with the house so empty these days I was seriously considering it.

"As he said, Rasul came for a progress report. However, he has also been sent with news that might affect the direction of the investigation." He paused, clearly for dramatic effect. "I'm sure you can guess what sort of news it is."

My eyes darted to the bundle of towel, glass, and cheap synthetic still sitting at the edge of his desk. I sighed heavily, my shoulders slumping as I collapsed into the second visitor chair. Clearly it had been too much to hope what I'd seen was an isolated incident. "Yeah, I can. Let's hear it."

* * *

><p>*ASASP = as soon as scientifically possible...it's a Bill Nye thing.<p>

_Characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work). This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind._


	13. In Which Wishes Are Made

Hullo! I know it's not Friday, but, erm, things. Regardless, new chapter! This one, in addition to having been pre-read by the amazing PMR, features a cameo from another urban fantasy series.

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><p>The blood from the remaining five bottles had sort of all mixed together when I'd gathered them up, and had been further muddled on the way over, so when Eric called Pam in to serve as the guinea pig (she pulled a face, but complied without any further argument), she just dipped a finger in a couple puddles, gave a contemptuous sniff, and licked it clean. When nothing happened the first time, she dipped her finger in a couple more puddles and tried again. When an inexplicable wind failed to kick up that time as well, we collectively decided we were bored of waiting with bated breath and concluded that there must be something to the whole "genie in a bottle" thing and the fact that they were all broken spoiled the test. The remains of the sixpack were shuffled into a box for me to take home and deal with later, when I determined exactly what samples I should be sending to the witches in New Orleans.<p>

To that end, once the package was safely situated back in my car, I placed a call to Amelia. She didn't pick up, but the phone beeped to alert me to an incoming call when I was in the middle of leaving a message, so I figured she'd just been in another room and hadn't made it in time. I wrapped up the voicemail and switched over.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sookie. You rang?"

"Mmhm. Got another one."

I heard her blow out an unenthused stream of air. Amelia had ignored my calls for about a week after Mexico, swearing that she wanted nothing more to do with me and "my" trouble-making vampires, but when I started leaving detailed messages about what was happening, she caved: she loved any excuse to work on more challenging, esoteric magic. That, and I'd promised that I wouldn't make her deal directly with any vampires. "What is it this time? Someone put a crazy-legs spell on the Pureblood?"

I paused to imagine that, since it would surely be a sight. "Sadly, no. Signs point to genies."

"A djinni?" Her inflection was slightly different, reminding me of the strange man's accent, so I filed it away as the technical pronunciation. "What makes you think that?"

"To start, the fact that the guy I saw appear out of nowhere, stake a vampire, and then disappear again called himself one."

"Ooooh." She sounded impressed. "That is some serious shit you've got yourself into. Everything I know about djinn says they can be real nasty guys."

"I'd gathered that, actually. What else do you know?"

"Not a lot. I mean, the basics, like that they're spirits of wind and fire, and that they're wish-granting tricksters. Past that, there isn't much that people agree on. It's not like we run into them all the time."

"Oh. Do you think maybe Octavia knows more?"

"She might." She made a little sound to indicate she was thinking. "Actually, the person who might know the most is her boyfriend. I hear he's scary-good with old-school African magic."

"Are djinn," I said it carefully, trying hard to get the pronunciation right, "from Africa? I thought all the stories came out of the Middle East."

"I think they're native to the desert, and there's a lot of desert in Africa. It's my best lead right now."

"Well, I appreciate it. Could you ask and see what you can find out?"

"Sure thing, Sook."

"Thanks. Do you think it would help to send down samples?"

She gave a little vocal shrug. "Couldn't hurt. Should be fun, trying to track an air spirit."

"Speaking of which, do you think I'd be able to tell if one was in a bottle?"

"Maybe. I dunno. Guess it depends on how your thing works, right? I mean, it's obviously picking up on something alive, and if djinn are too incorporeal to have that, whatever it is, you're not going to hear anything, right?"

"Right. That's about what I'd guessed. Well, I should go. First night back and all that."

"Oh! Knock 'em dead, alright?"

"I'll do my best. Bye, Amelia."

"Bye! I'll call you when I've got something."

It was one of the nights when Chow and I split bartending duty, and while the crowd wasn't unusually heavy, the fact that I'd been away for a few days and that I was only _mostly_ recovered from being staked left me a little behind the curve. Rasul, much as I enjoyed having his company, was not helping. He'd decided that, while he was in town, he'd spend some time catching up, you know, just in case it was another three years before he heard anything. Being as that required me to think both about his questions and what the club-goers were ordering while trying to keep their thoughts out, as well as talk to him while keeping an eye out for customers and waitresses, I was perhaps not mixing drinks at full speed. At least I didn't have to try to entertain the crowd: Pam's experiment in different kinds of vampire entertainment had both regulars and tourists practically frothing at the mouth for the chance to salsa dance with the two latino vampires she'd borrowed from a friend in Texas.

"So," he started, sipping at his usual LifeFlow, "I understand from Charles that when you disappeared, you moved closer to campus and started working at a dive bar that catered to supes."

"That would be accurate," I answered in between pouring shots and mixing a tequila sunrise.

"May I ask why?"

"You may. I'll even answer." I fluttered my eyelashes at him.

"Will you."

"Sure will, just as soon as you ask."

He chuckled softly. "Well then, why did you run off?"

I smiled. I'd missed this kind of friendly, guileless banter when I left Bourbon Street. Eric was fun to talk to, but he always seemed to circle back around to seducing me, which got tiresome. "I needed the extra time working closer to campus gave me. Plus, grabbing some roommates let me have a little more flexibility with my finances, in case I needed to cut back on hours to make time for research." Of course, even if I considered Rasul my friend, I knew where his loyalties lay.

"And now that you've finished your degree, you're here?"

"Yup. I missed home." I paused to check over a bottle of Red Stuff that had been ordered. It wasn't a hot seller, but we offloaded a case or two most nights. "What about you? Anything interesting happening down in the city?"

"Not much. The traffic outside Ms. LeClerc's building has increased, and there have been an unusual number of accidents involving cameras belonging to Fellowship of the Sun members. We've had to increase security as well, with all the out-of-state visitors."

"Is that so? I imagine the Fellowship is mighty interested in that."

"Oddly enough, yes. They seem to think we're plotting something horrific."

"Are you?" I joked.

He smiled back. "Nothing as bad they think. Killing children is hardly the way to maintain goodwill among the humans." Like most vampires I'd met, it seemed like his only objection to that kind of violence was that it wasn't good for public opinion. I sighed.

"That's definitely true."

By the time Chow showed up to relieve me, our conversation had grown stilted in the way that they do when two people don't know each other terribly well are stuck talking for more than a few minutes. As such, I was glad that Rasul decided he needed to get on the road - apparently he was expected back at vamp headquarters well before dawn - so I said goodbye and disappeared into the back corridor. I hadn't found anything out of sorts with any of the Red Stuff behind the bar, but there were still several cases to check in the cooler, and I had no intention of leaving before the job was done. After all, there wasn't anyone waiting up for me at home.

Allowing myself a single errant sniffle, I ducked into the employee break room to grab my coat from my locker, then made my way across the hall to the stock room. We kept considerably more Red Stuff in stock than the half-dozen cases of Equis Rojos Eric had ordered to try it out, and I quickly realized that I'd need some kind of system to keep the ones I'd checked separate from those I hadn't.

When Belinda came in an hour later, I was maybe halfway through. Unfortunately, Chow hadn't just sent her for the TrueBlood and LifeFlow she grabbed on her first two trips, and I had to stop her from picking up one of the cases I hadn't checked.

"No, don't take that one. The ones with the check marks on the top are good, but I haven't gotten to the other ones." I waved the marker I'd borrowed from Bruce's office at her cheerily.

"Oh," she replied, turning toward one of the indicated boxes. "What are you doing?"

"There's been a distributor recall." I pulled one of the bottles out of the case sitting between my legs and held it up to the light. "Apparently some of the shipments were stored incorrectly and might've started to go bad. I'm checking to make sure ours are all good."

"Oh," she said again, accepting the line without argument. Since she was the only half-intelligent fangbanger I'd ever met, I guessed my story sounded a lot more plausible out loud than it had in my head.

"Yup. If you could tell Ginger and whoever else is in tonight, that'd be super. It's just the Red Stuff you have to be careful about - everything else is fine." I smiled sunnily at her, and she smiled back, only slightly wary. I got along fine with the rest of the human staff, but like most everyone they thought I was more than a little weird. Unlike everyone else, though, they mostly thought so because I didn't throw myself in the way of any of the vampires who graced the establishment.

With Belinda gone, the big room got very quiet again, and the only consistent sounds were the thumping of the sound system permeating the concrete walls and the clink of glass bottles as I moved them in and out of the boxes. With the repetitive motions and the steady beat vibrating the room, it was hardly surprising when I slipped into a sort of trance and my vision went vague, barely noticing each bottle as it crossed in front of my eyes. A crash from next door startled me out of it, and my fingers tensed around the neck of a bottle while my eyes shot toward the wall, instinctually searching out the source of the disturbance. There was nothing to see, of course, and if it was important, no doubt someone would come tell me. Satisfied for the time being that the world wasn't ending, I turned my attention back to the bottle I'd been checking.

It was _warm_.

I blinked at it. Surely they didn't go warm that quickly - I'd only been holding it for a minute or two. Maybe my hands had just gotten cold enough from handling so many of them while sitting in the middle of a cooler that glass only a step up from frigid felt warm?

I grasped the body with my other hand. Still warm.

I lifted the bottle to my face, pressing it against my cheek. Still warm. Hot, almost.

I stared at the thing, my eyes crossing as I tried to focus on it from only a few inches away. Either I was hallucinating or I'd just found something really weird. Between the temperature and the sort of breathy sensation poking at my brain, though, signs were pointing to djinni.

I stumbled to my feet, then steadied myself against a shelf because on top of legs which had gone numb from sitting for so long, I was experiencing an acute case of headrush.

It must have gotten later than I'd thought, because the club seemed oddly empty. Or perhaps it wasn't, but everyone had cleared out with the dancers had left; whatever the reason, it wasn't particularly important. I nodded at Chow as I went past, looking for one of the owners. I found Pam in the booth, playing with the electronics and grinning in a way that told me that her prank war with the DJ was still going strong. I wasn't sure, but I thought the antagonism might be some kind of backward mating ritual.

"Pam?"

She didn't look up. "Yes, Sookie?" She did something with some wires and chuckled to herself. I wondered what the guy had done to earn this kind of retaliation.

"I think I found a djinni?" I hadn't meant it to sound like a question, but with Pam so enthusiastically involved in whatever it was she was doing, I was feeling more confused than I had been back in the store room.

"Is that so." Her tone flattened right out as she straightened and faced me. With her in the raised booth, this was one of the only times she was able to actually look down at me, and I couldn't say I was enjoying the extra intimidation factor - the tiny blonde vampire was scary enough without it. "Well, then, I suppose I should have a drink of the vile stuff." She stepped down and started across the floor. Even in spike heels, Pam set a brutal pace, and I could barely keep up.

We stopped at Eric's office, but only long enough for Pam to stick her head in and inform him that we were testing a possible positive. The exchange was muffled, but I made out a few words, including 'plan' and 'not stupid' before she ducked back out and shut the door. Since one of the waitresses - I thought it was the one calling herself Elvira - was in there with him and having a good time, I figured he was having a snack. While I knew, intellectually, that Eric was a vampire and thus fed on people, I had no particular interest in watching him or anyone else actually do it, so I was glad that Pam hadn't dragged me inside with her.

There was a span of a few seconds where she just stood outside the door, as though hesitant to proceed, but then we were off again at that absurd speed. When we ended up in Bruce's office again, I couldn't help but smile. "Maybe you should co-opt this room officially, so you have your own office."

She frowned, then pushed the desk aside with more force than was entirely necessary, her otherwise-invisible nerves showing in a lack of care. Some dust fluttered down onto the surface after it hit the wall. "No. If I did that, Eric might make me start doing paperwork." The shudder that ran through her voice on the last word made me want to laugh, but I figured it wasn't the time.

"Oh," I said instead. "Where do you want me?"

She shook her head. "Just stay out of my way." I nodded and started working my way around the edges of the room to the corner behind the desk. "And give me that bottle." I thrust it at her and ducked into the spot I'd chosen.

Her rigid cool cracked briefly as she took a deep, and totally unnecessary, breath. In a single smooth motion, Pam broke the sealing ring around the cap and brought the bottle to her lips, tipping back a respectable mouthful and swallowing it with a distinct air of distaste. As she set the bottle on the desk, a breeze kicked up. It wasn't nearly as strong as the wind the last djinni I'd seen had summoned, but given that we were in a windowless room, it was certainly enough. Bruce's papers fluttered helplessly, skittering across the desk without actually taking flight and serving to distract me momentarily from the woman's sudden manifestation across the room.

She was striking - moreso than the man dressed like a comic book detective, even - dressed head to toe in brilliant banana yellow, right down to her pointed pumps and pointier finger nails, and darker of skin than even stodgy old Maxwell Lee, who was the blackest man I'd ever met, vampire or otherwise. Yellow beads clicked together at the end of the long braids that trailed down her back and swung when she turned to look around the small room. She was tall and gorgeous, and with those scorchingly yellow eyes, stirred primordial memory of terrible things peering out of a darkened jungle.

Brief survey complete, she locked eyes with Pam. "Greetings, vampire. I am _djinn_, and am I here to grant you three wishes." She paused, her eyes glancing to me. "But I suspect you already know that."

"Indeed. Sookie, please ask this djinni what the forms for making a wish are, as well as what the limits are on what can legally be requested."

I blinked, but the djinni continued to watch Pam. "Uh, what she said. In what form must the wishes be made?"

"Clever, using your human as a mouthpiece. I am not obligated to grant any wish that does not begin with 'I wish,' and the only limits are those to my power."

"Sadly, she is not my human, merely my employee. Sookie, ask what it is not in her power to grant."

It seemed to me that this wasn't really necessary, but I had to admit that even if she wasn't technically obligated to grant wishes not framed as such, she didn't say that she couldn't. "What wishes are not within your power to oblige?"

She smiled, and I could see that her teeth were pointed, like a vamp's. "I cannot kill by magic, I cannot rewrite time, and I cannot give you or anyone else phenomenal cosmic power. Furthermore, and this one's for free, vampire, you can't wish for more wishes." The other djinni seemed to have skirted that first line pretty close, but I gathered that since the stake had been a physical object summoned to his hand, it didn't count as death-by-magic.

Pam smiled. "Fine. I wish you to explain to us in truthful detail what the goal of contaminating synthetic blood is."

The djinni shook her head slightly, setting the beads to rattling again. "I'm too low in the chain of command to know, sistah. I get my orders, I follow them."

"Very well. I wish you to tell us your orders with respect to situating yourself within a bottle of Red Stuff and the carrying out of wishes."

"Go to the factory. Slip into a bottle just before it is sealed. When the seal is broken and a drink is taken, appear to the drinker and offer three wishes. Grant any wishes made with brutally literal interpretation and vengeful intent." Her flat delivery and flatter gaze spoke volumes about how thin her patience was running.

Pam, on the other hand, seemed to be growing more and more amused by the success of her tactic. Her final wish was delivered with an understated glee. "I wish you to name the originator of these orders, which is to say the leader of the djinn, and to provide instructions for finding him or her."

She hissed, and while the feline gesture was strangely suiting, I couldn't tell if was reactionary or meant to intimidate. "Our king is called Iblis, nightwalker, and you would do well to fear him. Do not bother seeking him, he will find _you_." Unexpectedly, she turned to face me, her irises suddenly flickering with orange and red fire. "He is looking forward to meeting you, little human." Her grin as she said it was feral, and I shivered involuntarily as she faded rapidly from sight, then again as a breeze whipped past my ear and out the air vent behind me.

* * *

><p><em>Most characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work); the one that isn't belongs to Rachel Caine. This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind.<em>


	14. In Which The Stress Gets To Sookie

But Esquilo, you say, it's been more than /three/ weeks since the last chapter! Well, yes, and I congratulate you on your counting abilities. The long and the short of it is that I've been busy and also this chapter required a lot of editing, during the process of which it got sort of monstrously long. Like, two average-size chapters long. But no matter, it's here now, for your amusement. Thanks be to PMR, whose ability to spot the things that'll get twisted wildly out of proportion often annoys me, but who has yet to steer me wrong.

* * *

><p>When I woke up the morning after the djinn, there was a crabby man sitting on my porch and grumbling to himself. Based on the clock's display, showing that it was barely past eight, I had to assume that he'd managed to wake me with just his thoughts, which kind of hung about the place like a thunderhead. I threw on a robe and went to find out what he wanted.<p>

He jumped up at the sound of the door unlocking and spun around to glare directly at me. I sighed and leaned against the doorframe, looking out through the screen door at him.

"Good morning to you, too, Bobby. Why are you here?"

"The Master sent me," he sneered. "Do you have a passport?"

"No, of course not. I've barely been out of the state," aside from that one highly-illegal trip across the border, "so why would I have a passport?"

He grunted. "I thought not. Get dressed. We're going to Dallas to get you one."

"I beg your pardon? I have plans!" To tidy up a bit and do my laundry, but he didn't need to know that.

"Cancel them."

"Why?"

I didn't think I'd met anyone who could glower better than Bobby Burnham. "Because the Master said so. Get dressed already."

"Not until you explain what's going on." Unfortunately, his thoughts were remarkably unhelpful on that front - mostly he was just thinking about how annoying I was and wondering why anyone, much less 'the Master' put up with me. "I am a bartender, not a slave, and Eric Northman does not have the right to command me to do anything. Why does he think I need to get a passport?" All in all, I thought I'd delivered that with remarkable cool, considering.

Bobby, on the other hand, looked like he was fit to burst. "Because," _you __insufferable __bitch_, he completed silently, "he is taking you to Paris."

"France?"

"No, Texas!" I probably deserved that, but rolled my eyes anyway.

"Why?" He glared at me, fighting with himself over whether or not to answer. I got most of the details from his head, though, so I waved him off. "Never mind. Would you like to come inside while you wait? I can put on some coffee..." I figured if I was going to be stuck in a car with this man going to and from Dallas, I should try being nice now.

"No."

"Suit yourself. I'll try to be quick." I shut the door firmly behind me and went straight through to the kitchen. "But not _too_ quick," I murmured as I set the coffeepot going.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

Bobby was waiting in his car when I came out twenty minutes later, showered, dressed, and carrying a cup of granola and yoghurt to eat with my coffee, since I didn't expect we would stop for breakfast. Sure enough, we were moving as soon as the door was shut, and once he could spare the hand, Bobby was thrusting a pen and a clipboard full of paperwork at me. Fortunately, I'd put the coffee in the cupholder, so I had a hand available to hold it.

"What's this?"

"Your application. Fill it out now, so everything's in order when you get there."

I was willing to grant him the importance of expediency, since I was apparently flying out of New Orleans in three days, based on the pair of tickets that had arrived by courier an hour or so before dawn with mine and Eric's names on them. The envelope had said "Hayes," and while Bobby hadn't seen the letter himself, I had a strong suspicion it was signed "Iblis." I also suspected that even if I hadn't been personally invited, Eric would have dragged me along as one of his consulting gigs that I was nominally allowed to refuse.

More than four hours of uncomfortable driving later, Bobby all but shoved me out the car door while idling in the bus lane in front of the blocky highrise that housed the Dallas Passport Agency. He told me to wait for him in the lobby when I was finished, because he had some business to attend to that might take a while. I got the impression that the business had something to do with the supercar that Eric had purchased at the height of his madness, but there was a weird thunking noise from the trunk as he pulled away that made me worry that there was something else. At that point, however, it was unfortunately too late to do anything about it.

I spent my time waiting for an official to be free - I'd finally found the right door just in time for my one o'clock appointment, but that meant little in a government office - checking over the application and being vaguely disappointed with it. Whoever had been in charge of getting things together (Bobby, probably) had used my old, and rather bad, Tulane ID picture for the photo, and despite all the care I'd taken, my handwriting was shaky. Hopefully that wouldn't be a problem for processing. The woman to whom I was eventually directed was pleasant enough out loud, if somewhat condescending, but I wasn't surprised at the less-than-flattering opinions about me that fluttered through her thoughts. Honestly, though, even having each thought spelled out for me, I couldn't follow how she arrived at the conclusion that I was a call girl.

Once all the paperwork was in order and the fees paid (fortunately, Eric had provided funds to handle them, though Bobby had been reluctant to hand them over), it was more waiting while things were filed properly with the State Department and my passport book was printed. By the time I was shuffled out the door, fresh passport in hand, it was nearly three and they were about to close. There was no sign of Bobby when I reached the lobby, so I settled on a bench to wait. After about ten minutes, I wished I'd thought to bring a book. Some time after that, when I'd decided I'd had enough sitting and had started wandering around the huge marble room, Bobby appeared at a fast clip, looking both satisfied and harried, his eyes jumping to his watch every few seconds. He paused only to confirm that I'd gotten it, then turned and led me without a word to the garage where he'd parked the car.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

Pam was waiting when we pulled up at my house, and considering how much unadulterated Bobby I'd had all day - the only stop we'd made on the way back was at a fast food joint, and that barely long enough to pee and order - I was understandably unenthused about the prospect of more vampire shenanigans. I walked straight past her and her crossover on my way into the house, and left the door wide open when I remembered that she didn't have an invitation to enter and couldn't follow me. It made the house cold, but the tiny act of rebellion made me happy, so it was worth the sacrifice.

I got two minutes flopped on top of my bed before Pam started knocking on the window, her face barely visible over the sill. Groaning, I rolled to my feet and went back to the front door; she probably didn't even have to rush to beat me.

"Okay, what now?"

"We're going shopping."

I blinked. "Why?" Aside from the once right after I'd been hired and she was showing me what was acceptable for work, Pam and I did not go shopping together. This was perplexing.

"Because you are going to Paris and Eric insists that you be properly attired." There was a short pause, and she smiled ferally. "I agree."

"But I'm exhausted."

"So?"

"I can go shopping myself tomorrow. Just, I don't know, give me instructions for what to get."

"No. Tomorrow you will not have time. You are being collected by a car service at noon for the drive to New Orleans."

"I'll go in the morning." This seemed obvious to me, since most stores, including my friend Tara's shop, were open during the day. Furthermore, if she left now, I could go to bed sooner and get a reasonable amount of sleep beforehand.

"And when will you pack?" Her smile was toothy and victorious.

"I think you're overestimating how long it takes me to shop and pack."

"Do you have luggage?"

"Well, no..."

"Hm - one more thing to buy. It would probably be easier to have something delivered tomorrow," she mused.

I stared at her. "You know what, fine." Easier to just be the flexible reed and give in, since vampires tended to see an immovable object as something to destroy. "Sit tight for a minute and I'll put my shoes back on."

~~~ИΞEN~~~

There was a certain urgency and brutal efficiency to Pam's shopping technique that had not been present the last time, and all the zipping around the shop kind of scared the women working the floor. I did my best to reassure them, but given that I was still waking up from my unintentional nap on the way over while trying to dodge being shoved into the dressing room with piles of clothes that had been thrust at me, I can't say as I was very effective.

"Pam, enough," I said firmly the next time she went by. "If you do not stop now, I will drop these clothes, walk out of here, and run screaming for the nearest police station." Nevermind that I wasn't even sure where we were, much less where that would be. "I appreciate your input, but I can pick out my own outfits," I continued when she came to a halt, arms akimbo and face annoyed. "Now sit, please."

Surprisingly, she sat, taking up occupancy on the husband chair while I flipped through the bundle and tried to figure out what she had been going for. Best guess, it was business casual, though the pairs of jeans thrown in were messing me up. I set aside a few pieces to try later, then muscled the rest onto the dressing room rack - no way was I going to try to find where it all went in the store. Without another word, I turned my back to Pam and went to do my own browsing, fighting down a yawn as I did.

I wasn't surprised when Pam got out of the chair and started following me around, keeping a running commentary for each item I considered; it was annoying, but at least she wasn't pushing me aside, and it did give me a better idea of not only this trip's goals, but what she expected Eric and I would be doing in Paris - the number of times I had to resist being steered into the lingerie section was especially telling. When they finally rang up the purchases (a pair of skirt-suits in grey and dark blue, a couple of brightly-colored blouses to go under, a little black dress, two outfits of what Pam called 'travel-casual,' and all the appropriate sundry articles) on the line of credit that had been arranged, all parties involved in the excursion were satisfied, and I was relieved that I'd finally be able to get to bed. Pam assured me when she dropped me off with the bags that a case would be delivered in the morning, and I waved a groggy acknowledgement before pushing the door shut by falling against it.

Sure enough, when I toddled out to the porch in the morning to fetch the newspaper, there was a luggage-sized box parked in the corner, innocent as you please. I was surprised they'd managed to get delivery driver out to the sticks this early, but no doubt vampires had their ways. I only hoped that those ways were more on the 'fiscal motivation' end of the scale than 'rampant intimidation,' but with everyone on edge about the contamination, I wasn't sure I could count on them to keep it legal.

I was ready in plenty of time, and pleasantly surprised to hear the crunch of gravel right on time, as the clock on the living room mantel was chiming noon. Less pleasant was the actual car the service had sent, which shared some rather unnerving characteristics with a hearse. If I'd thought about it, of course, it would have occurred to me that transporting a vampire travel coffin by car would naturally require a vehicle of such proportions, but since I'd never had reason to consider it before, it was an unpleasant surprise.

The ride, though, was agreeable enough. I spent most of it staring out the windows at passing landscapes, until shortly after sunset, when Eric climbed out of his coffin, parked as it was in the middle of the floor. We exchanged few words, his distraction obvious, and when we arrived at the hotel, he stayed barely long enough to check us in before disappearing to meet with the queen, tension writ large across his shoulders. If I hadn't already been on edge about this trip, that would have set me off. As it was, it made me more determined than ever to spend my free day grilling Amelia and her mentor for anything that could possibly be relevant.

Travel the next evening was rather byzantine, compared to the simple car ride south, or even the stealth-flight to Mexico, and with nothing much to go on besides djinn being tricksters, I had to suspect it was by design. I was picked up about an hour before sunset in the coffin transport, Eric loaded in by a couple of brawny Weres; he woke up as we arrived at Louis Armstrong International, and we checked in together for our hop to Atlanta, where we'd pick up the transatlantic flight. That flight was pleasantly short, and the ease with which it was accomplished almost let me relax. Once on the ground, Eric accompanied me through the airport to our gate to Paris, then disappeared right before boarding through a small door leading to the tarmac, where he'd climb into the hold with his travel coffin. By the painfully erect way he was walking and the set of his jaw, he was even less thrilled about this than he was about his meeting with the queen.

I wasn't happy about having him out of sight and potentially vulnerable, either, but there wasn't anything we could do about it, aside from refusing Iblis's invitation. The note with the tickets had been very explicit with its directions, even while it explained in a sympathetic tone that international air travel just wasn't up to the standards of the American niche market for vampires, and the best that could be done was a flight where there was only sunlight intermittently during the last hours, when the sun would appear to rise several times as we skipped into lower altitudes. The promises of security both in the hold and when we reached Paris did little to reassure me, and Eric's silence on the subject spoke volumes.

Iblis had us over a barrel, though, and he knew it. To date, the contamination had been pretty tame in its effects, not to mention well-contained, but we all knew that everything could go to hell in a moment if enough people got wind of it. The more vampires who switched to all-natural feeding, the greater the likelihood that someone would be caught doing something unfortunate and start a witch hunt. This had to end, and to have any hope of that, we had to play by the djinni king's rules.

I think I probably only slept for half an hour the entire flight, and that was only due to exhaustion. I started awake as the lights in the cabin came back on, announcing the start of our descent into Charles De Gaulle. There was weak sunlight streaming in around the window shades, and I grimaced. France was ostensibly friendly to vampires, but they had their troubles, too. Nothing quite so fundamentalist as the Fellowship, but I'd heard about some incidents. I could only hope that the security was as good as we'd been assured and no one tried to crack Eric's coffin - it wasn't exactly an unobtrusive item to unload.

As I de-planed, I pulled out the sheaf of papers Eric had given me at the gate in Atlanta, a copy of the packet Iblis had sent, and followed the complex instructions to get outside, where I could wait for transport and keep an eye on my traveling companion. I had to drop the name "Hayes" a few times, and by the time I managed to get where I was going, the European version of one of those hearse-y cars was waiting, Eric already tucked inside. I didn't like that, nor did I like that I couldn't make heads or tails of the two men waiting for me. They were wearing boring identical black suits and bland expressions under dark sunglasses, and when I reached for their thoughts, it was like trying to grasp a bit of cloth in the wind. More djinn, then.

Like he was the mind-reader, the one on the left tipped his sunglasses down, smiling cruelly when I recognized the luminescent orange eyes of the djinni from the parking lot. My eyebrows disappeared into my hair, and I brushed past them to get to the car, suddenly extremely concerned for Eric's well-being. They couldn't kill with magic, but that one had already shown a propensity for skirting the rules, and anyway, it wouldn't take magic to kill him, just a few minutes in the sun, which they'd definitely had. I kept my feet outside the vehicle, preventing them from shutting the door and driving away with us before I was satisfied, and got out again and went around to the other side to finish the inspection. The seals appeared intact, and the little puffy sticker I'd attached under the lip was still there, so it was definitely his coffin, but only sunset would tell me for sure if it was him inside it.

With that established and the appropriate identification produced, I allowed the pair to load me and my bags into the back from the drive into the city. They were polite to a fault, playing Frenchmen with an alacrity that would have amused me if I hadn't been so worried about where they might be taking me. They continued to follow the agenda, however, and I soon found myself and Eric bustled into a suite on the fourth floor of a charmingly old-world hotel, the room they put Eric in obviously converted in recent years to be light-tight. When they were finally gone and I'd made the room as secure as I could (not that I imagined it could withstand any sort of assault), I settled myself on the couch in the front room and turned on a dubbed cop drama to wait for sundown.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I twitched awake to Eric standing over me, adjusting a pair of cufflinks and generally trying to look nonchalant about the whole situation. I sighed, embarrassed, and rubbed my face, which was happily free of drool.

"Hi."

"Our appointment with Iblis is in forty-seven minutes. Get dressed." I glanced at the clock and blinked, because sure enough, it was that late. I pushed myself off the couch and went to do as commanded, since I would put even odds on Eric manhandling me into the bedroom and doing it for me if I didn't, and not because he wanted to see me naked. He was very clearly not enjoying how far out of his control this situation had gotten.

When I emerged again, I had barely a breath to admire how well the cut of his suit, well, suited him. It was completely the wrong time to be thinking about it, but he just looked yummier than usual, and I refused to feel guilty about appreciating the view. Lord knows he'd have plenty of opportunity to ogle me back. It only lasted a moment, anyway, before he was moving again, ushering me out the door and downstairs.

There was a car waiting for us, a sleek black thing with a trident on the grille and an orange-eyed psychopath behind the wheel. I took the seat in the opposite corner of the car so I could keep an eye on him, leaving Eric to walk around to the other side. The drive was short, and if I counted correctly, we only went about five blocks, making me wonder why we'd taken a car at all. No doubt it was another way for Iblis to control us, just like the doorman who helped me out of the car, his grip on my wrist just shy of bruising, and ushered us into an elevator that started moving before we had a chance to press any buttons.

At the end of the ride, it dinged open onto a large anteroom, sparsely furnished with clear, modern-looking pieces. The space between us and the door across the room, which had been left slightly ajar, was occupied by a glass-topped desk and not much else. As was rapidly becoming my habit, I cast about with my mind, looking for the unseen danger in the posh surroundings. The only signatures I found, though, were Eric's void next to me and something that felt like a puff of warm air, the fleeting, indistinct thoughts dancing away when I tried to hear better. I gave up upon hearing a chuckle drifting out of the next room.

"Now, now, Miss Stackhouse, you'll have to buy me dinner before I let you get that intimate with my mind." The voice was amused and lightly accented, the consonants tapered in that uniquely French way. "Please, come in. You'll have to excuse my lack of staff - Parisiens are so particular about their schedules these days. Not that the rest of the country is any better. No work ethic at all, but the food is exquisite. If only it weren't so dismal in Marseilles this time of year," he finished regretfully.

I glanced up at Eric while the disembodied voice rambled, and he gestured that I should precede him through the door, his fingertips brushing reassuringly at my back even while he pushed me forward. The office beyond was decorated much like the anteroom, though the subtle, orange highlights gave an otherwise lifeless decor a mild heat. As we crossed the threshold, the man behind the desk stood to greet us, and despite my best efforts to remain cool and professional, a shiver ran up my spine.

"Ah, Miss Stackhouse, Mr. Northman. It is a delight to meet the people responsible for the utter dissolution of my Mexican venture. I am Iblis."

I couldn't say exactly what I'd expected from the king of the djinn, but this rake-thin redhead was definitely not it. While he was dressed impeccably in a very expensive-looking, midnight blue suit and his tie seemed to be knotted with magic, he looked like a stiff breeze could carry him away. He had the same kind of untameable mane of hair that I'd noticed a lot of the two-natured sporting, with wild orange curls licking around his face like tongues of flame, and an impeccably-trimmed detached goatee. Given the the other two djinn I'd encountered, and this whole trip, I had anticipated theatrical flamboyance; this kind of wolf in sheep's clothing, unspeakably ancient being pretending to be a normal human thing was far more worrisome.

The eyes gave it away, though. They were molten iron, and my skin burned when he turned them on me. I started sweating under his regard, and may have inched a little closer to Eric, off to my left.

Like a vampire, he didn't offer to shake hands, and after a beat I remembered my manners, responding to his greeting with a polite smile. "It's nice to meet you, too, Mr. Iblis." Eric inclined his head ever so slightly, a cautious acknowledgement of the other's status designed to give the impression that he wasn't phased. The way he pointedly avoided making eye contact gave him away, though, and by Iblis's quietly amused expression, he'd drawn the same conclusions.

"Just Iblis, Miss Stackhouse. Please, sit." We settled into the indicated chairs, me perched near the edge and Eric sprawling deliberately, the arrangement of his limbs belying the tension in his shoulders and the resurgence of that tiny tic at the corner of his eye. Iblis ignored the posturing, his gaze steady on me. I fought not to shiver.

"How are you doing, my dear? I heard you were grievously wounded by some of my people."

"Fine. It's healing."

"Good, good. It would be a shame to lose a talent like you. So kind of the Duke to lend the use of his jet. What was his name? Dario, n'est-ce pas?"

I stiffened. The only person who'd heard me call him that was Eric, and at the time we'd been in a sealed cabin at thirty-thousand feet. "I'm told he goes by Rick, and I wouldn't call it kind. He probably considers me in his debt now, and I'm not looking forward to the day he decides to call in his marker."

He nodded, not quite hiding a moue of dissatisfaction. "Yes, I can see how that would be cause for concern. You seem the type to collect favors, not unlike your vampiric employers. No doubt that's why you work so well together."

I shrugged. "Could be. I definitely don't like not knowing what's coming."

"Of course not. That's why you're here, is it not? To find out what's coming, to see if you can stop it?"

"We're here because you summoned us, your majesty," I said, allowing a hint of sharpness to creep in at the end. "I know what I hope to learn, but whether I do or not is entirely at your sufferance."

"Well, yes. Let's start with my people in the bottles. What do you know?"

I glanced at Eric. Any time he wanted to start contributing to this conversation would be fine with me, but he was sitting back at watching with half-lidded eyes, the only indication that he was not at ease the finger he was slowly drumming against the arm of his chair. "That they're there, and that they're inserting themselves at random in the factory. That they're taking advantage of the young, stupid vampires who live on RedStuff."

"Have you figured out how to detect them? To trap them?"

That they could be trapped was a good thing to know, but no doubt he'd told me on purpose. "Why would I tell you if we had?"

"Because I can make this stop, and all I want to know is what you can do."

"All of it? Including the LifeFlow?"

"Sadly, no. That was not my doing. I could tell you whose doing it was, though, if I was so inclined."

"And what would it take for you to become inclined?'

He abruptly lost the façade of friendly banter. "Let me be frank, Miss Stackhouse. Anywhere there is air, I can have ears." He made a small gesture, and the dark-skinned djinni from Fangtasia appeared in the corner, this time clad in electric blue. She grinned toothily at me, those fangs and yellow eyes just as chilling as the last time, and gave me a little wave of her fingers before disappearing again in a whisper of air. "Rahel has been keeping an eye on you the past few days, but no doubt you've discerned that I've been watching for far longer. I know where you are with the LifeFlow, and that your little coven in New Orleans has no more idea what to do with a djinni than you appear to."

"With all due respect, then, what threat do we pose you? Why the expense of flying us here, especially if you could traverse the distance in an instant?" I was guessing at the last, but I suspected it was true, or nearly so.

A stream of hot air shot past my ear, teasing at my tightly-bound hair, and descended on Iblis in a swirling mini-tornado as he stood and walked _through_ the desk as though it were no more than a hologram. His lips quirked upward and he leaned forward, invading my space to run a finger along my jaw. I fought to keep from shrinking away, and out of the corner of my eye I could see Eric had gone tense again.

"I could have come to you, true. I could have appeared in your car as you drove to work, or in his daychamber," his eyes flicked to Eric, who had the arms of his chair in a death-grip, "or anywhere else that struck my fancy. Doing so may even have served my purposes, but there is a certain subservience in going to one's adversary which I find distasteful. In comparison to the gains, the expense is trivial.

"As for the threat you present, I am not yet sure, but I aim to find out." He stepped back again, leaning companionably against the desk. "You smell intriguingly of fairy, but your telepathy is a demonic trait." That was news to me. "You hold yourself aloof from supernatural posturing, yet you unite them toward a common goal with ease. Everyone is so interested to see what you can do that _nobody __fights_. What _are_ you?"

"A bartender," I said automatically, a smile creeping onto my face.

"Oh, bien sûr. A telepathic, small-town bartender with a big-city education in psychology. You straddle worlds so well, but what are your limits?" He was monologuing, and I didn't want to interrupt him, just to see where this went; Eric, however, had evidently had enough of wondering when the next shoe would drop.

"I am curious myself, but not so much as I am to know how you intend to discover them."

"Ah, so you do speak. I had wondered if someone had lost their temper and rendered you mute on the way here."

"He's got a task for me," I said, jumping back in between them. "Something to do with whoever's actually in charge, I'd guess."

"You are very perceptive, _cherie_. Yes, I want to know what you can do with her."

"Her?"

"Innes. She calls herself a fae queen, and I'm not inclined to disagree. You can find her in Underhill, Wisconsin, or rather you can find the entrance to her realm there."

"What do you get out of ratting on your boss, other than testing me?"

He sneered. "She is not, as you say, my boss. She is a source of entertainment, like the entertainment you robbed me of in Mexico. I am looking to capitalize on a potential new source of amusement. Perhaps also gain a new tool," he finished, the look in his eye making it clear he meant me.

That chafed, and badly. For a moment, I forgot to be careful around the thing that could ruin my life with a thought and snapped. "I am no-one's tool, Mr. Iblis. If you want my help, after this is done, you will ask nicely, just like him," I gestured sharply at Eric, "and everyone else."

At that, the king of the djinn smiled at me, and I realized with a start that this was the first true smile I'd seen him muster; I sincerely wished he'd kept the count at zero. Already braced to stand and walk out in a huff, I shot out of the chair and started to inch back around to the door. Eric stood, too, extracting himself from the chair with deliberately slow precision, and stilled my retreat with a gentle hand at my elbow.

"The information is appreciated. Are there any conditions attached?"

The smile broadened, completely menacing even while his body remained reclined against his desk. "Merely that you go to her about this contamination problem of yours."

"You will cease your own part in the operation?"

"Oh, of course," he responded, flippantly. "This will be far more gratifying, anyway. The results so far have been...disappointing."

I found my voice again. "Well, thank you very much, Mr. Iblis. You've been very helpful."

"Just Iblis, please. It's kind of you to say so, but I really haven't." He turned, phasing back through the desk, and dropped back into the chair. "Do take some time to enjoy the city before you leave. Even with everything dead this time of year, it has its charm. Now go."

He kept smiling that horrible smile as I bobbed an awkward half-bow, half-curtsey and spun on my toe, fully intending to leave with all haste. Eric's hand on my elbow, now firm and starting to dig into the joint, held me to a much more dignified pace, allowing us to exit with some decorum intact.

~~~ИΞEN~~~

I probably could have cited any one of a number of reasons for it (including being in Paris, a cocktail of stress/adrenaline/terror, that suit, or my libido staging a sudden revolt), but once the doors in the elevator closed, I suddenly found myself very much in favor of boning my boss. So much in favor, in fact, that I barely let him punch the button before I was grabbing him by the lapels and attempting to drag his mouth down to mine. Attempting, because I'd spent so many months rebuffing his advances that he was caught off-guard and didn't move immediately, but he got it after a second and let me pull him to my level. God, could he kiss. I didn't get much chance to enjoy it, though, as it was a very fast elevator.

We didn't exactly jump apart when the car stopped, but by the time the doors had opened again, there was a comfortable distance between us, so it was mildly disappointing that there was no one there to see how good we were at pretending we hadn't just been making out. Eric, however, wasn't one to be distracted from the excellent opportunity I'd presented, and I found myself being steered very quickly toward the exit by the hand he'd returned to the small of my back, the thumb stroking lightly through the silk blouse. The hotel Iblis had booked us into wasn't far, but His Pushiness apparently couldn't stand to wait even the time it would take to walk, because he very shortly had us airborne and alighting on the balcony of my room in the suite.

I couldn't say I minded - the sensation of flying in open air was exhilarating, and he was very careful not to lose contact, to distract me from any second thoughts I might have had with tantalizing little touches. In fact, I was so distracted that I was blissfully unaware of our passage from the balcony to my bed, beyond the frantic groping of our hands and the puff of air past my ears as he sat down, me in his lap and our lips locked together. That hint of breeze, however, set off a bell in the corner of my mind, reminding me of a cause for concern.

It was very difficult to concentrate, with him kissing me like that, but I managed to pull back, taking the opportunity for some great, heaving breaths; he took this in stride, wasting no time in moving to my neck, which was perhaps more distracting.

"Eric..." He made a rumbling noise against my pulse that was probably an acknowledgement. "Do you," I started, then interrupted myself with, "No biting." He grunted annoyedly, but his hands, which had slipped under my shirt, continued to trace delicate paths along my spine and ribcage. I lost the trail of my thoughts again and scrabbled after them. This was _important_, damnit.

"Eric, do you think Iblis has one of his djinni in here right now?"

His mouth stilled on my neck briefly, just long enough to ask, "Do you hear one?"

"No," I huffed, "but that's the problem. I didn't hear that Rahel one until she appeared, and I'm not sure she wasn't there the whole time."

By the end, he'd stilled completely and shifted to look at me, his chilled hands resting on my very warm skin. "She probably was. Why are you worried?"

I spluttered. "You mean, aside from the fact that she, or one of his other minions, or God forbid, that creep himself could be watching us? It's not like we're making it hard for him to know what we're up to, making out in his elevator and then going straight back to the suite he booked for us. Why did he even get us a suite?" The more I thought about it, the easier it was to conclude that the guy was a class-A pervert.

He was looking very vexed with me and the brakes I'd put on us having sex. "Even the king of djinn knows a smart vampire will not trust unknown security during his daytime rest. Putting you in here with me is a token effort to put me at ease about the rest of his demands."

I supposed that made a certain kind of sense, and was probably the same kind of play as the flight over. It didn't tell me whether or not he was lurking in a corner and watching us, though. "Okay, fine, but I still don't want to be unintentional djinni porn."

I would have crossed my arms for emphasis, but I found myself being crushed to his chest instead as he growled at me to shut up already. He completed the motion by lunging at my lips, going back to the part of the proceedings that he'd liked, and I could tell he'd been holding back before. His next words were barely a whisper, spoken directly against my mouth. "Do not worry. If I can't make you forget about peeping djinn, I will be very surprised."

It wasn't the most reassuring thing to say, but I had to admit, he was right. I forgot all about nasty invisible people getting their jollies as my consciousness collapsed to only include his body and mine, and the fantastic things happening wherever they intersected. Sex with Eric blew all of my (at times mediocre but generally above-average) previous experiences out of the water, and not even the slow burn of long-unused muscles stretching around him could change that. When we finished, he with a satisfied groan and I with a sigh, it was all I could manage to collapse sideways and off of him. Not that I expected him to object to having me pressed against his chest, but it felt right to separate myself, even if it was only by inches.

After a few minutes, I found I could get my mouth moving again, even if the rest of me was still having fun being boneless and full of very happy nerve endings.

"Eric?"

"If you say one more word about djinn and where they may or may not be lurking, I will happily find a way to silence you."

I snorted. "Uh, no. I mean, I'm still concerned about...that, but what I wanted was to make a deal."

"Oh?"

"Mmhm. If I promise not to completely rule out the possibility of us ever having sex again," I would be a fool to do that, but he didn't need to know that I didn't have iron self-control, "will you stop trying to seduce me at work?"

"Why? Do you not enjoy my attentions?" The mattress shifted next to me, and I managed to get my neck to respond to direction. He was leaning toward me, a puzzled expression creasing his brow underneath that unfairly good-looking sex hair.

"I sure do," I said, smiling, "but it cuts into my tips when customers think I'm between them and you. Not to mention they complain about their drinks more, which isn't good for your bottom line."

His face blanked out for a moment as he thought, then acquired a decidedly devious expression. "Sookie, are you finally telling me what the _right __time_ is?"

I flushed, though I couldn't say why. "Oh hush, you. If you don't agree," I joked, "maybe I'll file that sexual harassment claim Sam suggested."

His eyebrows shot up. Apparently this was not something that had ever occurred to him as a possibility. "Why didn't you?"

"Aside from the fact that I've got a good thing going at your bar and I'm pretty sure he was just trying to find an excuse to get me to come back to Merlotte's full-time?" He nodded. "I realized that Pam is what passes for Fangtasia's HR department."

He laughed. "Oh, you should have filed your complaint. It would've been something to see." When he kept chuckling, I rolled away, reaching for a pillow to hit him with. The laughter stopped abruptly and I stilled mid-reach, wary.

"What's this?" His fingertips ghosted across the skin of my back, settling against my shoulderblade. I turned my head toward him, closing my eyes in pleasure as his touch shot heat through my body.

"It's a joke."

"Oh?"

I sighed as his fingers stroked up and down the pattern. "Mm...yes. Amelia bought it for me as a graduation present."

"And it is funny to have black squares etched into your shoulder?"

I laughed a little, lightly. "It corresponds to an antipsychotic medication, which is funny because I am, in a manner of speaking, an antipsychotic myself."

"I see." He sounded mildly amused. "That is clever." He leaned down, nibbling at the inky patch of flesh, and I felt the delicate whisper of his breath against it as he spoke, sending shivers down my spine. "Clever, and delicious."

* * *

><p><em>Most characters included in the above are the sole property of Ms. Charlaine Harris, long may she write (but not too long, lest her books become like Deuteronomy or Laurell K. Hamilton's work); the recognizable one that isn't belongs to Rachel Caine. This work of fiction was intended to amuse without providing monetary gain, and any lawyers who should come to read this are politely asked to keep that in mind.<em>


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